


Against The Dying Of The Light

by EthanTheRenegade, swanofmischief



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-07 16:04:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 38
Words: 298,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11627022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EthanTheRenegade/pseuds/EthanTheRenegade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanofmischief/pseuds/swanofmischief
Summary: Vincent and Rhiannon DiMaggio's lives are turned upside down on a cold October morning when the sirens blare and warn of nuclear fire. While one meets their end trying to keep their baby boy from a scarred bald mercenary, the other sets out into the Wasteland to find their child.Simon Lopez considered himself a fairly simple man. He really only wanted four things: food, water, shelter, and to be left to his own devices. However, the world was not content to leave him be, and the wandering mechanic finds himself dragged into a parent's quest to find their lost son.(Co-Authored by SwanOfMischief from Chapter 9 onward)





	1. The Times, They Are A-Changin’

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I was sufficiently encouraged to post this by some people in the Fallout 4 community on Tumblr, so here it is. Bear in mind that normally I never post anything until it's done, so updates will be erratic at best. As of now, five chapters are completely written.
> 
> Chapter TW: Homophobic Slur, PTSD
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Bob Dylan.

 

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**THE TIMES, THEY ARE A-CHANGIN'**

* * *

**October 23, 2077.**

It’s a sunny morning, albeit chilly, though the temperature was expected to raise a little later in the day. Before he could be woken by the blaring siren of his alarm clock, Vincent DiMaggio rose from his bed. A veteran of the Sino-American War, Vincent bore numerous scars, mental and physical, from his experiences in battle. His dark brown hair was buzzed on the sides, and he allowed a beard to grow in order to cover the scars that marked his face.

Rubbing his tired eyes, Vincent slowly walked towards the bathroom. He would be going into Concord for a speech at the Veteran’s Hall, and one of his few remaining friends from the 108th alluded to Fraternal Post 115 debating whether or not to invite him to deliver the same speech. Undressing, the veteran stepped into the shower and turned the faucets. Experience had taught him exactly how far to turn each one to get his desired temperature on the first try. Letting the warm water wash over him, Vincent felt himself separate from his body and relax. He stood still for a time, the coldness of the rest of the world slowly fading away. His head tilted back of its own accord, eyes briefly opening.

However, when he did so, the shower head morphed into a minigun, the drops of water to bullets. Letting out a gasp, Vincent’s breath vanished from his lungs and panic seized his chest. Fortunately, Codsworth, their Mr. Handy, had installed a railing in the shower for these occasions, and Vincent grabbed hold of it before he could collapse. The veteran grasped the rail for a long time, recovering his breath and letting his heart resume its normal beat.

Meanwhile, an alarm blared out in the bedroom, rousing a young woman from her bed. Tiredly swatting at the device until it fell silent, the woman yawned and reached over to the other side of the bed, finding it warm, but empty.

“We need a new alarm clock…” She sighed, pushing herself back towards her side of the bed and rising to sit on the edge. Across the room, she could see herself in the mirror. Her shoulder-length cool brown hair, just styled the day before, was ruined by bedhead. Again.

Sliding into a pair of slippers and grabbing her glasses from her nightstand, Rhiannon yawned again as she shuffled towards the hallway. She could hear the shower running from behind the bathroom door as she crossed to peek into the room across from the master bedroom. Inside a crib lay their sleeping baby boy Shaun, about a year old. Rhiannon sighed contentedly at the peacefulness of the resting child. It was a miracle that he had slept as well as he had the night before. Vincent had a bad nightmare, the first of its kind in three months, and woke screaming.

Returning to the hallway and into the living room, Rhiannon saw Codsworth preparing Vincent’s coffee.

“Good morning, mum!” He greeted her, one of his three eyes turning in her direction, “Mister Vincent is in the shower at the moment, so I’ve taken the liberty to prepare his coffee.”

“You remember what temperature he takes it before milk or cream?” Rhiannon asked.

“One hundred and seventy three point five degrees fahrenheit.” Codsworth responded nodding his eye. “The paperboy will be along shortly, I imagine. Just in case the lad is late, I’ve taken the liberty of bringing forth Mister Vincent’s favourite comic book.”

Rhiannon felt a surge of relief. At the behest of her mother, they had bought Codsworth to help them raise Shaun. While she was initially unsure of how the Mr. Handy would handle raising a child, there was also the additional secret motivation of having an extra set of hands to help Vinny cope with his post-traumatic stress disorder as he returned to civilian life. Considering Codsworth had no need to sleep, he was always able to set up the morning to be as comfortable and smooth as possible for the ex-soldier.

“Thanks Codsworth…” She sighed, “Do you think you could put some tea on for me?”

“Already in progress, Miss Rhiannon!” The Mr. Handy replied jovially. “You needn't worry about a thing.”

“Thank you…” Rhiannon gave the spherical body of the robot a hug. Some might think her strange for doing so, but Codsworth had done so much for the growing family and took a great deal of weight from her shoulders.

“Ah, no problem, mum.” Codsworth swung a free hand around to pat the woman on the back.

Knowing her husband’s routine, Rhiannon walked across the room and turned on the television, the one thing that Codsworth had missed. Hearing the sound of the shower being turned off, Rhiannon walked back towards the bathroom, pausing for a moment to look at her law degree.

“Pulled a lot of late nights… but it was worth it.” She reminisced to herself.

Returning to the hall, Rhiannon gripped the handle of the bathroom door. Vincent had the habit of not locking the door while he was in the bathroom, in case of a severe anxiety attack. Opening the door, she saw her husband wipe the steam off the mirror as he practiced his speech for the event today.

“War never changes…” He finished with a sigh.

“You’re gonna knock ‘em dead at the Veteran’s Hall today.” Rhiannon made sure to speak before she hugged him from behind, as to not surprise him.

“You think?” Vincent asked, looking over his shoulder.

“Absolutely.” Rhiannon affirmed. “Now get ready and stop hogging the mirror!”

“Right.” Vincent smirked at her joking tone. “Hey… what do you think. Beard or no beard?”

“You sure?” Rhiannon asked, stroking the side of Vincent’s face.

“Yeah… I don’t think I need the lone wanderer look now that I’m back home.” Vincent sighed.

“Well, keep the moustache… it might help you in that interview with the police station next week.” Rhiannon smirked.

“I’ll certainly look that part.” Vincent laughed, as he applied shaving cream to the sides of his face and his chin. “Does Codsworth have my coffee ready?”

“He’s brewing it now. TV’s on too.” Rhiannon confirmed.

“Great. How’s Shaun?”

“Asleep when I checked. Codsworth said he slept all night.”

Vincent let out a relieved sigh, his head bowing towards the floor, “Thank God.”

Rhiannon gave her husband’s arm a little squeeze, “Hey. It’s okay, really. We’re gonna get through this.”

Vincent gave an irritated grunt in response. Rhiannon let go and took a step back. Vinny was a proud man, and hated when his insecurities and weaknesses were brought up, even in a positive space, and even if he mentioned them first. For this reason he was adamantly against seeking a therapist, no matter how beneficial it’d be. Her mother always thought it was because of how Vinny’s father had raised him… the two were similar in a number of ways, and not all of these similarities were good. But she loved him despite his faults, and she wasn’t one to give up when the going got tough… just ask her law teachers.

“The mustache looks good on you. That should definitely be your ‘look’ for awhile.” Rhiannon changed the subject as Vincent finished removing the facial hair from around his mouth.

“Sideburns need to go.” Vincent grimaced in the mirror at his unfinished work, “I look like some faggot biker with them on…”

Ah yes, another one of Vinny’s faults. Much like his father, Vincent harboured a great deal of prejudices. His distaste for the Chinese was explainable, due to the war, and fortunately he didn’t share his father’s racism for other people of colour. However, Vinny and his father were both quite homophobic. For this reason, Rhiannon had kept her bisexuality a closely-guarded secret… until she was very drunk on wine at a Christmas party the previous year. Vincent confronted her about it the following morning, afraid she’d leave him for a woman. Once she managed to calm him down and explain it in a way he’d understand, he was much better about it.

“There we go.” He finally said, wiping his face with a cloth soaked in hot water. “Mirror’s all your’s hon.”

“You’re so good to me.” Rhiannon smirked, patting her husband’s shaven cheek.

As Rhiannon began to fix her hair in the mirror and prepare herself for the day, Vincent lumbered out towards the kitchen.

“Good morning sir!” Codsworth’s jovial voice announced as he poured coffee into a cup on the counter. “Your coffee, one hundred and seventy three point five degrees fahrenheit, as usual.”

Vincent nodded, a small smile on his face as the Handy unit finished pouring the elixir of energy, an array of milk, cream, and sugar already set beside the cup with a spoon.

“And,” Codsworth continued, “Today’s newspaper… just delivered!”

“Thank you, Codsworth.” Vincent’s smile grew a little more.

“You’re welcome sir.” The Mr. Handy acknowledged, “Mum’s tea is ready as well, shall I pour her a mug?”

“Please do.” Rhiannon said from the hallway, having managed to brush her hair into a presentable style. “What’s the newspaper look like Vinny?”

“More of the same…” Vincent sighed irritatedly.

Suddenly a cry burst out from down the hall.

“Ah! It seems as if someone’s made a stinky!” Two of Codsworth’s eyes turned towards the baby’s room. “I shall attend to young Shaun.”

“Thank you Codsworth.” Vincent waved the robot off as he leaned against the counter, both hands wrapped around his coffee.

“You know… I was kinda nervous when we first got him.” Rhiannon confided, “But he’s really good with Shaun.”

“It helps that _he_ doesn’t have to smell the dirty diapers.” Vincent cracked a tiny smile.

Before their banter could continue, the doorbell rang.

“Oh for fuck’s sakes…” Vincent sighed, leaning a bit to the left to look out the front window. “What does Vault-Tec want with us now?”

“I don’t know, but that salesman’s been trying to get ahold of you for awhile.” Rhiannon shrugged her shoulders. “You may as well hear him out.”

“We’ll see.” Vincent said, keeping his cup in his hand as he walked over to the front door.

“Good morning! Vault-Tec calling!” The salesman began his pitch the moment the door was opened.

“...Is there something you want? Because I ain’t buying shit.” Vincent said sharply, sipping his coffee.

“No, not selling anything!” The representative quickly backpedaled, “But this is a matter of utmost urgency… I’ve been trying to speak with you for the past few days now.”

“My wife said as much.” Vincent flatly responded. “Can you get to the part where you tell me what the fuck you’re doing on my front door so early?”

Rhiannon and the representative both winced. Vincent could be nasty in the mornings, and this poor salesman was only getting a little taste.

“I’m here to inform you that because of your service to our country, you and your family have been preselected for entrance to the local Vault… Vault 111!” The man was being a little too theatrical for the DiMaggio couple this early in the morning.

“Sounds great, but there’s room for the whole family… right?” Rhiannon asked, stepping behind her husband.

“Well, yes. Except your robot, of course.” The salesman nodded. “Now, you’re already cleared for entrance, in the event of… well, total atomic annihilation, but there is just a little bit of paperwork to fill out, information to verify.”

“Mhmm. Sure.” Vincent rolled his eyes, pulling the clipboard from the Vault-Tec rep’s hands and hastily scribbling on it. Passing it back to his wife, she took a few moments to verify the required information.

“Wonderful, thank you both, I’ll get this right to the Vault.” The salesman said as Rhiannon passed the clipboard back to him, “Congratulations on being prepared for the-”

The end of his pitch was cut off by Vincent all but slamming the door shut.

“Hey, it’s peace of mind. It’s worth a little paperwork, right?” Rhiannon poked her husband in the arm as they both walked around the room to sit on the couch together.

“For you and Shaun, no price is too high.” Vincent seemed to relax, “Even if the salesman is a slimy piece of shit.”

“Good answer.” Rhiannon chuckled as the newscaster discussed baseball and the weather.

“Excuse me, Mister Vincent, Miss Rhiannon?” Codsworth returned, the sound of Shaun’s crying continuing to ring through the halls, “Shaun has been changed but refuses to calm down. I believe he requires some paternal or maternal affection.”

The spouses shared a look. “Your turn!” They said simultaneously.

“Alright, I’ll go.” Vincent sighed, Rhiannon’s laughter echoing behind him as he walked down the hall into his son’s bedroom. Shaun’s cries stilled and quieted as Vincent’s face came into view, and faded into murmurs and giggles when Vincent tickled his tummy and cheeks.

“You don’t mind the scars, do ya?” Vincent asked his son, who gurgled a response. “Nah. We’re lucky your mother’s such a patient woman. Anyone else would’ve left me in the dust by now. Not your mum. God love her.”

“How are the two most important men in my life?” Rhiannon asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, _he’s_ starting to calm down.” Vincent nodded towards the crib.

“Spin the mobile a bit. He loves that.” Rhiannon suggested. At her request, Vincent lightly pushed the rocket-adorned toy with a finger, causing some soft music to play. “There we go…” The young woman cooed, walking over to the other side of the crib.

The couple stood together in a few moments of silence, save the mobile’s music and the assorted noises of delight from their baby boy.

“So I was thinking…” Rhiannon interrupted the moment, “The weather’s supposed to hold up. How about going to the park this afternoon?”

“Will it be like that night in the park a year ago?” Vinny raised an eyebrow with smirk.

“Sure, because I want another stern talking-to by a hardass police officer and wind up pregnant. Again.” Rhiannon snarked back, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of her lip.

“Sir! Mum! You should come and see this!” Codsworth’s voice called from the living room, dripping with more worry than either thought possible.

“Codsworth, what’s wrong?” Rhiannon called back, reaching into the crib for Shaun as Vincent headed off to see what was going on.

As Vincent walked quickly to where his robotic butler waited, he could hear the newscaster read a report in a grim tone.

“Followed by… yes, followed by flashes, blinding flashes, sounds of explosions. We’re… we’re trying to get confirmation…” He said, nervously looking at the notes he was given, “We appear to have lost contact with our affiliate stations…”

“What’s he saying? What’s going on?” Rhiannon asked, walking into the living room with Shaun in her arms.

“We do have… coming in… confirmed reports, I repeat, confirmed reports of nuclear detonations in New York and Pennsylvania…” The news anchor paled as he read the words he was given. “...My God…”

With that the television broadcast cut to static as air raid sirens began to blare. While Rhiannon expected her husband to enter a state of panic, he instead seemed to harden back into a soldier’s skin.

“We need to get to the Vault, _now_!” He ordered.

“I’ve got Shaun!” Rhiannon affirmed. “Codsworth… stay safe.”

“And your family as well, mum…” The robot said sadly.

“Come on!” Vincent shouted, flinging the door open.

“All Vault participants, this way!” A soldier directed traffic towards the hill behind the neighbourhood.

Hysteria flooded the streets of Sanctuary Hills. People were not sure what to do or where to go. For those who didn’t get Vault-Tec’s knock on their door, most attempted to outrun the nuclear apocalypse while some attempted to force or sneak their way into the Vault. Vincent was on high alert, fuelled by adrenaline and panic in equal measure.

“Vinny! Wait! I can’t run as fast as you!”

Rhiannon’s voice pulled Vincent back. Rather than slow his pace, the ex-soldier turned around and swept his wife into a bridal carry as she held their son in her arms. The sounds of panic from the citizens were blending into the memories of the front lines of the Sino-American War, and Vincent was half expecting to see Communist Chinese soldiers emerge from the woods with guns drawn.

“...This is absurd! I _am_ Vault-Tec!”

The voice of the sales representative arguing with the soldiers blocking the way to the Vault helped pull Vincent from his haze.

“I’m going in. You can’t stop me!”

The salesman was cut off by the distinct whirring of a minigun as it prepared to fire. Raising his hands in surrender, the salesman ran back into the woods. Pushing through the crowd, Vincent stepped face to face with a soldier with a clipboard.

“Vincent DiMaggio, wife Rhiannon DiMaggio, child Shaun DiMaggio. We’re on the list, we need to get in!”

The soldier looked at his list and nodded. “Infant. Adult male. Adult female. Okay, go ahead.”

“Thank you soldier.” Vincent saluted as he let his wife back down to her feet.

“Good luck.” The soldier saluted back.

“You two, this way! Come on!” A man dressed in a Vault suit with body armour waved the DiMaggio family over.

“What’s going to happen to the people outside the gate?” Rhiannon asked.

“We’re doing everything we can, keep moving!” The security guard shouted back, leading them to the top of the hill. A cluster of people stood atop a platform that would undoubtedly sink into the earth. “Stand in the center!”

The couple pushed themselves to make a final sprint to the platform, Vincent arriving before Rhiannon courtesy of his greater endurance and constitution.

“Alright, that’s it! Send it down!” An officer commanded.

“Almost there… is Shaun okay?” Vincent asked his wife.

“He’s fine. We’re going to be okay.” Rhiannon responded, holding the baby closer to her chest. “I love you.”

“I-”

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light and a deafening sound as a nuclear warhead detonated in the distance.

“Down! Now! Send it down _now_!” The officer screamed again.

“Hold on!” Vincent shouted to the group huddled on the platform as it sank into the earth, the shockwave of the distant explosion dashing towards them.

“Can’t this thing move faster?”

“Oh God, oh God, Oh God…”

The platform’s descent seemed to quicken as a pair of doors sealed the mouth of the tunnel at the top, encasing the survivors in momentary darkness as the explosion’s waves passed over. His panic and adrenaline catching up to him, Vincent passed out.

 

* * *

 

When Vincent came to, the elevator had reached the Vault. Most of his neighbours were already ascending a set of stairs. Mr. and Mrs. Whitfield stood off to the side, the missus consoling her husband. Rhiannon knelt next to him.

“See Shaun? Daddy’s alright.” She said, passing the baby to her husband.

“Hey little guy…” Vincent sighed as he accepted the baby. “We made it. God, we really made it.”

The DiMaggio family huddled together in the elevator of Vault 111 for a few more moments before Vincent rose to his feet and returned Shaun to his mother. As a unit they marched up the stairs, trailing behind the rest of the survivors of Sanctuary Hills. Returned to his mother, Shaun stared in awe at the underground facility, far too young to understand any of what had happened.

“Adult male, adult female with infant…”

A man in a blue Vault suit marked his list as they passed through the giant cog-shaped door. Residents gathered around a table, receiving their Vault 111 jumpsuits from a dark skinned young woman.

“Here you go, your new Vault suit!” She said, probably a little too perky for someone who watched the world burn moments ago.

“...Thanks.” Vincent said, slightly put off by her cheery tone.

“What now?” Rhiannon asked as she received her blue jumpsuit from the attendant.

“Just follow the doctor here. He’ll show you where to go.” The attendant gestured towards a pale man with bright white hair, his white lab coat over his Vault suit.

“Alright you three… follow me!” He said in a similarly chipper tone.

“See? This is our home now…” Rhiannon breathed as she held Shaun closer to her chest. Though Vincent could tell his wife was merely telling herself that.

“You’re going to love it here.” The doctor said, leading them down a long hallway, “This is one of our most advanced facilities- not that the others aren’t great, mind you.”

As they passed another couple, Vincent could scarcely register their worried conversation about the woman’s mother and father in Washington D.C.. He was focusing on every detail of Shaun’s face, the sleeping baby boy in his mother’s arms.

“How long do you think we’ll be down here?” Rhiannon asked the doctor.

“We’ll be going over all of that in orientation. Just a few medical items to get through first.” The doctor said as he led them into a room with pods lining the walls. Leading them towards the far end of the room, the doctor gestured to the pods on either side of him, “Just put your vault suits on and step into the pods.”

With an irritated sigh, Vincent stripped down to his underclothes. Rhiannon turned and cast a glare at one of the Vault-Tec scientists who spent a little too long staring at her husband’s physique as he put on the blue jumpsuit. Before Vincent could make a move for one of the pods, Shaun began to wail and cry.

“It’s okay Shaun… See, your daddy’s right here.” She said, passing the baby off to her husband.

“Hey, little buddy…” Vincent cooed as he cradled the infant, his wife starting the same process he was forced to undergo. His son in his arms, Vincent stepped into the decontamination pod.

“Now, the pods will decontaminate and depressurize you before we head deeper into the Vault. Don’t worry, it’ll be safe for the little one.” The doctor said, stepping up to the glass. Across the way, he could see his wife step into a similar pod. Placing his hand against the glass for the moment, Rhiannon mirrored his action.

“Resident secure.” A feminine robotic voice announced, “Occupant vitals… normal. Procedure complete…”

Vincent could feel a chill running down his spine.

“In five…”

Frost began to accumulate across the inside of the pod.

“Four… three…”

His breath quickened in rage as the glass fogged up and obscured his wife from his view. This was a trap! Was Vault-Tec involved with the Chinese?

“Two…”

While theories as to who or why attempted to form in his head, his entire world vanished into the cold.

“...One…”

 

* * *

 

“Manual override initiated. Cryogenic stasis: suspended.”

The world slowly came into view in tones of blue through the frosty window of the cryo-pod. Rhiannon clawed at the glass, pushed against the bulk of the metal to no avail. Through the window, she could barely make out a woman in a blue… no, a white hazmat suit, and a bald man wearing some kind of leather and metal getup that she didn’t recognize.

“This is the one. Here.” The woman said, pointing to the pod with her husband and baby inside.

“Open it.” The man ordered.

Rhiannon felt a cold fear sink into her from the shoulders and back into her heart. As the fear swam its way through her body, the pod cracked open. After a moment, Vincent and Shaun sparked to life, Shaun wailing and Vincent coughing like the first breath one takes after nearly drowning.

“Fuckin’ Vault-Tec, Chinese motherfuck…” Vincent cursed violently as he held Shaun, “Who the fuck are you? You’re not with Vault-Tec! What the fuck is going on?!”

“Stay calm sir. Everything is going to be fine.” The bald man said, holding an arm out to placate the veteran.

“Let me hold your baby, sir. Give you a moment to breathe.” The woman in the hazmat suit said, reaching for the baby.

“No. I don’t trust you… where the fuck is my wife? What the fuck is going on?” Vincent was still woozy from the stasis, delirious even, but kept a tight grip on his son.

“Let the boy go. I’m only gonna tell you once.”

Rhiannon gasped as the man raised a massive revolver, pointed at her husband’s head. She began to pound against the glass. “Vinny!”

“I’m not giving you Shaun!” Vincent roared, blind to the armed man as he wrestled his son away from the woman in the hazmat suit.

_Boom!_

“No!”

Rhiannon screamed as her husband fell backwards into the cryogenic chamber, Shaun falling into the arms of the woman in the hazmat suit.

“Goddammit…” The bald man cursed, “Get the baby out of here, let’s go.”

As the woman in the hazmat suit took the baby out of her view, the man stepped up to stare into Rhiannon’s pod. His face was framed by a noticeable scar through the left side of his face.

“At least we still have the backup.”

Rhiannon’s rage was short-lived as the computerized voice announced that Cryogenic Stasis would resume in five…

Four…

Three…

Two…

One…


	2. The Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of the wandering handyman Simon Lopez and his automatron companion, Percival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter has been brought to you by Dion.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

**THE WANDERER**

* * *

**October 9, 2287.**

Simon Lopez considered himself a fairly simple man. He really only wanted four things: food, water, shelter, and to be left to his own devices. His tanned face was covered in grease and dirt from working with machinery and trying to survive the vast wasteland that was once America. This quest took him all over that wasteland. For the past few years, that quest drove him to stay in an area known as The Commonwealth, previously known as Boston. His clothes consisted of a newsboy’s cap and a brown flannel shirt with some leather straps to armour himself, and a pair of glasses to help protect his eyes. Simon’s only travelling companions were the robots of his own making, and that was the way he preferred it.

A wanderer and tinkerer, Simon found his newest haunt in a Red Rocket truck stop outside of Concord, near the abandoned settlement of Sanctuary Hills. Well, abandoned except for a lone Mr. Handy who insisted that his masters would be coming back for him any day now. But still, he decided that the old gas station, with its workshop and abundance of tools, would prove a superior home than a lonely old neighbourhood.

“So this is our new home, is it?” The posh voice of Percival, a very heavily modified Mr. Handy echoed in the garage. “I do hope this turns out better than Hangman’s Alley.”

Simon shuddered at the memory of the events that chased them out of their former home.

“Percy, why don’t you go looking for furniture? We need a mattress… or a couch, at least.” The mechanic said as he walked through the door and around the counter, towards the office.

“Right-o, sir! I spotted a nice two-seater that would look great wedged between the counter and that cabinet!” Percival nodded his single eye as he walked off.

After scrapping some of the cabinets in the office and building a bedframe from it, Simon had himself a neat little bedroom. They’d still have to haul a mattress from Concord, but progress is progress. Turning his attention back to the workshop, Simon began to leaf through a notebook of designs. He’d need to find some scrap to build turrets that would keep the location secure. He’d also need to get some crops to plant. Mutfruit was always a good choice, and a lot could be gained from even a single bush of the plant.

“Here you are, sir! One couch!”

Percival’s pleasant tone pulled Simon from his notes. The handyman looked up to see the former Mr. Handy utilizing his recently added arms and legs to haul a brown couch towards the gas station.

“Put it where… wherever you said you were gonna put it.” Simon waved the robot off, “I think there’s a farm over the hill. I’m gonna see if I can get some food.”

“Excellent! I shall secure the home front!” Percival nodded his eye as he struggled to drag the furniture into place.

“If you can, see about going into Concord for a mattress.” Simon added as he slung a rucksack over his shoulder.

“Of course sir!”

With that, Simon adjusted his cap and headed off. He had a pretty good map of the Commonwealth… before he lost it to a Yao Guai. He’d managed to get a replacement, but it was nowhere near as complete as the first one. But as he recalled, there was a farm just over the hill, past the white tower. As he climbed the hill, making sure a hand was hovering over the holster that held the revolver he built from pipes and scrap metal, Simon kept his eyes open for raiders or wildlife. As the farm came into view, Simon relaxed a little, letting his hand trail away from his weapon.

“Good afternoon!” He called out to the man and woman working the tatoes in front of their home. “I’m friendly! Just looking to buy some crops.”

“What’s your name?” The man asked, rising from his knees and dusting the dirt off of his pantlegs.

“Simon Lopez. I’m planning on making a home in the old Red Rocket over the hill, if you need anything repaired.” Simon offered his hand to shake.

“Blake Abernathy.” The farmer nodded as they shook hands. “We might have to take you up on that someday.”

“Of course.” The handyman nodded back, “I’m in the market for some mutfruit and corn, if you have it. But I’ll take just about anything.”

“We haven’t gotten around to planting those just yet.” Blake responded, “We have the tatoes you see here, and some melons out back. You might be able to get mutfruit and corn over in Greygarden.”

“Sounds like a plan… but I don’t think I know where that is.” Simon frowned.

“Well, it’s…” Blake started as Simon pulled out his map, “We’re _here_ , and Greygarden is… over here.”

Simon scratched idly at his growing stubble as Blake pointed to a spot southeast of Abernathy Farm, across the river from Beantown Brewery and not far from Oberland Station. “I see what you’re shooting at… Any traders nearby?”

“Well, there’s Trashcan Carla. She just kind of… wanders. But she spends a lot of time hanging around Drumlin Diner, and Trudy there deals in general goods too. I’m sure once Carla knows you’re at the Red Rocket, she’ll make an effort to head out your way every once in awhile.” Blake pointed the diner out on the map. It wasn’t far at all… he could probably make the trip and be back at the Red Rocket before dark.

“Thanks Blake.” Simon folded the map back into his pocket. “While I’m here, do you think I could buy some tatoes off you?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Blake waved him off. “Just pick a few for now, and we’ll worry about settling accounts later. If you’re a handyman like you say, I’m sure I’ll need you to do some repairs now and then.”

“Okay… well, thanks again.” Simon couldn’t help but smile a little as he plucked a few tatoes from their planters. The sun was high enough in the sky that he felt confident he could make the trip to Drumlin Diner and back before sunset. So Simon headed off, tatoes tucked away into a safe compartment of his bag, in the direction marked on his map.

Heading across the irradiated plains before him, Simon double-checked his map. Apparently, it was more or less a straight shot south-west towards an old abandoned cabin. From there, take a left on the road, and a right towards the diner.  As he neared the road, Simon could barely make out the groans and moans of shuffling ghouls. Crouching low, keeping the panic inside his chest, and drawing his homemade revolver with a shaky hand, Simon followed his directions, keeping a wary eye out for hostiles. After the noises faded, and after he gathered his courage, Simon slowly rose to his feet, walking faster but staying alert.

At the crossroads, a middle-aged woman sat on the broken road with a cigarette, a brahmin behind her, loaded with goods.

“Here to rob me or to trade?” She drawled, scarcely looking in Simon’s direction.

“Trade please.” Simon sighed, heart still pounding from the close encounter with the ferals, “I’m in need of some crops. Moving into the old gas station, Mr. Abernathy over the hill pointed me this way… are you Carla?”

“Sure am.” Carla nodded, standing up and flicking her spent cigarette away. “What do you need?”

“Mutfruit, mostly.” The handyman said, already reaching for caps and miscellaneous objects to trade away. “But I’m gonna need some corn too. Carrots, I don’t mind either.”

“Hmm. Well, we’ve got _a_ mutfruit, two heads of corn, and a carrot. Those will run you about 25 caps.”

“Okay, but what if I throw in a pack of cigarettes?” Simon offered up a cloth box from his satchel. Simon never smoked, but sometimes found use in the components of the pack and the pack’s content. And people always seemed to want them, even if he never saw their appeal.

“That’s gonna mark it down to 15 caps.” Carla said, after a moment of appraisal.

“Deal.” Simon nodded, throwing her the cigarettes and counting out her caps.

“Pleasure doing business.” The saleswoman droned as she handed over the crops.

“Thanks again.” Simon waved as he followed the road back towards the Red Rocket. Passing through the ghost town of Concord, the thought of looting one of the buildings crossed his mind. Just as he was about to step into a speakeasy, the door burst open.

“Ah, hello sir! I’ve found a lovely mattress for you on the upper floor! It is quite dirty though… I’ve managed to procure some additional Abraxo Cleaner and turpentine though.”

Simon felt himself relax upon realizing his robotic friend was responsible for the surprise. “Very good. We’ll have to use them when we-”

The sentence was cut off by a gunshot as a bullet whizzed past Simon’s head and imbedded itself into the doorframe, sending splinters of wood into the air.

“Raiders!” Percival warned, dropping the mattress and stomping towards the bandits as they hid in a ruined store. Despite his determination, the Mr. Handy could not move any faster than his Protectron legs could carry him.

“We really need to get you new legs, buddy…” Simon commented as he dove behind a long-destroyed car and drew his revolver.

“Please do, sir. Unless you intend to return my original limbs to me?” Percival replied as he fired laser bursts at the raiders.

“I won’t be able to if I’m dead!” Simon shouted as a series of bullets ricocheted and rang against the metal frame of the rusted car. Firing back with a shaky hand, Simon had no more luck than the raiders, missing all three of his targets.

“Stop talking and die!” One of them shouted, firing a stubby shotgun towards the former Mr. Handy.

“A dreadful miss. Perhaps you are unaware of how shotguns function?” The robot snarked in response.

“Fuck you, trash can!” The raider with the shotgun cursed in response, firing a second shot that also failed to cause any significant effect.

“Now you’re just wasting ammunition.” Percival said in the same tone.

The raider rose to respond as he reloaded, giving Simon the opening to land a shot on his shoulder. “Gah! Fuck!”

“Less talking, more shooting! Dumbass!” One of the other raiders cursed as he fired a homemade pistol at Simon, continuing to miss.

“Maybe you should check your fucking aim!” A female raider spat, firing a 10mm pistol at Percival, denting the robot’s armor slightly.

“Maybe you should take your friend’s advice.” Percival commented, firing a salvo of lasers into the group of raiders, catching the one with the pipe pistol in the chest.

“Well maybe _you_ should-”

The argument was abruptly finished when Simon’s homemade grenade, fashioned from a baseball, clocked the first raider in the head before exploding slightly behind the trio, sending pieces of raider into the street, and knocking the other two into the open.

“Surrender!” Percival commanded as Simon walked up to the downed pair of raiders with his gun drawn.

“What?!” The male shouted, some blood leaking from his ear.

With a roll of his eyes, Simon lifted the man’s head enough for him to see the revolver’s barrel press against the glass eye of his gas mask. “Surrender. Like, stop fighting? Give up?” He shouted.

“What?!” The man shouted again.

“I said-”

“I heard you that time, fuck off!” The raider spat.

“Percy, step on him.” Simon commanded, trying to sound authoritative in front of the downed raiders.

“Affirmative, sir.” The legged Mr. Handy responded, walking across the raider’s back.

“Augh! Fucking Jesus! Son of a fucking… fuck!” The raider cursed.

With a sigh, Simon pulled the gas mask off the raider. Behind the mask was an angry light skinned young man with dirty hair.

“Look, bravado’s getting you nowhere anymore. For neither of you.” Simon briefly looked over at the female raider. “Now unless Percy’s broke your spine, I’m giving you both a last chance to walk off and put this shit behind you.”

“And what? We’re just gonna fuckin’ farm an shit?” The female raider asked incredulously.

“Sure. I don’t know. Work as a caravan hand. Quit the chems. Go to Diamond City. Live alone in the wilderness for all I care. But this raiding shit’s gonna get you killed. I mean, I blew up one of you guys. Crippled another. And all I got is a shitty gun and a half-baked robot.”

“I resent that.” Percival objected.

“What I’m saying is… I’m giving you a chance to walk away and live. All you gotta do is leave your guns behind.” Simon finished his speech. The two raiders looked at each other.

“Fuck this.” The woman said, reaching for her gun. Percival’s foot landed hard, crushing her hand underneath it.

“...I’ll give you one extra chance.” Simon sighed. “I really don’t want to waste more ammo than I already have. Besides, your raider buddies won’t take you back. You’re crippled, dead weight. So… really, you either retire or die.”

“Fucking fucked son of a fuck!” The female raider cursed, “Alright! Fine! We’ll fuckin’ quit!”

“Sounds good.” Simon said, collecting their weapons. “The way to Diamond City is dangerous… probably too dangerous, given your current state. Tell you what… I’ll give you one stimpack to help you get going.”

“...What the fuck is wrong with you?” The male raider asked.

“Good question.” Simon responded with a shrug. “Percy, come on, we gotta get this mattress back home before sundown.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to let them live?” The modified Handy unit asked.

“No.” Simon admitted, “But I’m hoping this… show of mercy doesn’t come back to bite me. _Again_.”

“Altruism. Your one true weakness.” Percy’s eye nodded sagely.

“You know it…” Simon sighed, rolling his eyes, “Now would you help me? It’s not heavy… it’s just awkward to carry.”

 

* * *

 

It took the pair nearly an hour, but they did it. They managed to bring the mattress to the old gas station.

“Before you left, I managed to fashion a well out of some of our spare supplies.” Percival said. “Shall I draw a bucket or two?”

“Yes please.” Simon responded, gathering some nearby branches. I’m gonna start some fires to put under them. Need the water hot if we’re gonna clean that mattress any.”

“Of course, sir.” Percival responded as Simon pulled the rod out of the spitroast. “Here you are!”

Simon nodded to the robot as he laced the handle of the buckets through the rod and hung it back in its place. “I’m gonna get the mop and broom, get the workshop floor clean. We’ll have to have somewhere to do this.”

“Excellent. I shall watch the water.”

Simon gave a small sigh as he headed towards the office. Behind the counter of the main store area, the aforementioned mop and a broom lay between a wall and a cabinet. Grabbing both, Simon returned to the garage, giving it a thorough sweep. Some dirt remained… dirt he hoped he’s be rid of once the water boiled.

“Sir! The water is done!” Percy called from outside as the sun began to set.

“Thanks. Bring the buckets in… and put another two on the fire.” Simon said, turning back to look for the Abraxo Cleaner and Turpentine. Donning the gas mask he took from the raider, Simon poured some of both into one of the buckets, mixing and stirring them with the mop. With the cleaning agents mixed, Simon began to mop up the garage, making sure he at least cleaned an area large enough for him to work on the mattress. To his surprise, he managed to get nearly all the garage floor before the bucket was empty.

“Mister Lopez,” Percival spoke, returning with two more buckets, “I have the additional hot water you requested.”

“Excellent… we’ll haul the mattress in now.” Simon brushed his hands against his jeans and left the mop in the bucket of chemical water.

After another struggle, the mattress was moved from outside to the garage floor. Mixing the two new buckets with the same chemicals as the first, Simon used the mop to try to dab and paint the fabric with the mixture. After using one bucket, the duo flipped the mattress over and applied the contents of the second bucket in the same manner. Once the process was complete, Simon leaned the mattress against the power armour station and the wall behind it.

“Well. Now we just gotta wait on it to dry.” Simon stepped back, reaching for the buckets.

“Times like this make me wish I still had my flamethrower arm.” Percival gave a wistful sigh.

“...Percy, no. The mattress would catch fire.” Simon gave a disappointed sigh.

“Can’t blame me for trying.” The Handy unit laughed.

Rolling his eyes behind the gas mask, Simon took the buckets of dirty water out to the road, where he dumped them onto the pavement. “Not like the earth here will be used for growing. It’s seen worse, anyway.”

Returning to the Red Rocket, Simon washed out the buckets and stacked them in the garage. Turning his attention to the guns previously owned by the raiders, the handyman stripped them for their parts.

“Plan to build something useful from those, I hope. That _was_ a nice pistol, after all.” Percival commented.

“No over-the-shoulder tinkering.” Simon rolled his eyes yet again at the robot. “And yes, I’ll be finding a better use for the parts.”

“Oh goody. Perhaps you’ll use them to give me better legs? Assaultrons have good legs… if a little too flimsy for my weight.”

“Eventually.” Simon replied, “And Assaultron legs could work, if we added some weight and modified them to support your frame. Certainly would be faster than those Protectron legs. Maybe new arms too. Sentry Bot arms would be _fantastic_ . Able to handle bigger loads _and_ bigger guns.”

“Don’t you think that taking on a Sentry Bot, or even an Assaultron is too much for us at our current state?” Percival asked.

“You know me… I can’t stop thinking big.”


	3. Found A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon is released from Vault 111 and is faced with a whole new world. Meanwhile, a sleep-deprived Simon has to deal with a new visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter has been brought to you by Zakk Wylde.

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**FOUND A FRIEND**

* * *

**October 23rd, 2287.**

Simon was _tired_.

He had been away from home for a little over a week, doing work for the residents in Vault 87 in exchange for some food to take home and a Pip-Boy. He was feeling extraordinarily introverted, and wanted absolutely nothing to do with social interaction. Even so, he stopped by Abernathy Farm on the way home. It was a gloomy morning, the sun only starting to peek above the horizon, and so Simon merely left a small bag of produce out where they’d see it. They’d get it when they woke up. As he crossed the hills, Simon rubbed his tired eyes. He wanted nothing more than to collapse into his bed and put the past week behind him.

“Welcome back, sir!” Percival’s voice called as he came into view. “We had a bit of a scrap with some raiders, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I may need some minor repairs, and I do hope you’ve reviewed my suggestion for building defensive turrets.”

“Percy, please… I just want to get some-” Simon groaned until he saw that his robot was missing his left arm and had a huge chunk of his body blown off. “Holy fuck!”

“Ah, yes. It is rather jarring, isn’t it?” Percy sighed… as much as a robot could sigh. “Fortunately, the bandits who attacked happened to have brought their own Protectron and Mr. Handy units. I imagine they were going to recruit me into their wicked lifestyle… or scrap me for parts.”

“Son of a fucking… _fuck_!” Simon cursed. “Alright, get into the garage…”

“Such language…” Percival scolded as he hobbled into the gas station.

* * *

“Critical failure in Cryogenic Array. All Vault residents must evacuate, immediately.”

Coughing and gasping for air as she thawed, Rhiannon slammed her fists against the steel and glass of her pod. An alarm blared in the distance. Pressing all her weight against the pod door, Rhiannon was shocked when it actually budged and gave way, creaking open. Falling to her hands and knees, the Vault dweller continued to sputter and heave, holding back the bile in her throat. Her glasses slipped off, but she managed to grab hold of them and return them to their rightful place on her face. Fortunately they were not broken.

It felt like a bad dream. But here she was on the wet concrete floor of Vault 111, surrounded by steel coffins with frozen bodies suspended inside.

Looking up, Rhiannon stared ahead at Vinny’s pod. She scrambled towards it on her hands and knees, grasping the handles on the outside to pull herself up.

“Come on! There has to be a release!” She told herself in a vain attempt to keep calm.

Frantically searching the outside of the pod yielded no results. But off to the right was a control panel with a red lever.

“Come on, come on, come on… oh, God…” Rhiannon begged the Almighty for aid as her husband’s pod creaked open.

To her infinite dismay, the events that felt as if they occurred moments ago were not some form of fever dream. The door of the Cryogenic pod lifted open to reveal her husband, lying back with a layer of frost coating his body, red blood frozen in place from the bullet that killed him. Reaching forward, Rhiannon slipped the wedding ring… his wedding ring from his finger, gazing upon the frozen gold band as she made a promise.

“I’ll find who did this… and I’ll get Shaun back… I promise.”

Barely keeping herself together, Rhiannon pulled the red lever again, sealing her husband into his cryogenic coffin. Vinny’s fingers were too big… or perhaps her’s were too small for her to wear his ring. So she slid it into one of the many pockets afforded to her by her Vault suit. Looking around, Rhiannon shivered from the cold and from the fear as she walked back down the hallway, looking into the faces of the men and women she had called her neighbours.

“My God… why… why would Vault-Tec do this?” She asked aloud as she hugged herself, rubbing her biceps in a vain attempt to warm up.

Pulling the release for the door, stale warm air rushed to meet her. Stepping through, Rhiannon had to cough at the dust in the air as the door behind her closed. After spending a moment stopping to steady herself against the wall, Rhiannon journeyed to the end of the hallway. Reaching the door that led to the Vault’s main entrance, she stumbled into a wheeled shelf with a toolbox on top, sending the contents clattering to the floor.

“Malfunction in emergency exit door override.” The mechanical voice responded to her attempts to open the door, “Please contact your Vault-Tec maintenance service representative.”

“Why?!” Rhiannon wailed, slamming her fist against the door, holding back tears.

Turning around, Rhiannon spied a door on her left. Seeing no other option, she pushed herself forward and through the door. Heading down a stairway into yet another fucking hallway, Rhiannon shrieked when a giant cockroach crawled across the glass window opposite her. Hearing her, the roach lept from the glass, disappearing from view. On the table in front of the glass lay a security baton.  Clutching it like a baseball bat, Rhiannon slowly crept through the hallway.

Taking a few more twists and turns led the poor woman towards what appeared to be the barracks. From one of the rooms, another giant roach crawled out. Letting out a shriek of terror, Rhiannon struck the creature with the baton, spreading insect guts across the concrete floor.

“G-g-giant roaches? What the hell…?” She stuttered as she took a few steps backwards, once again having to hold back from vomiting. What the fuck happened in here? She pushed the sickness down. She had to get out. She had to find Shaun.

Heading towards the next room, she watched as a roach was struck by a bolt of electricity from a sparking tesla coil. Rather than risk running through, she took a left and walked around the perimeter of the room. She encountered the first roach she saw on the way, skittering towards her and chittering violently at her.

“Fuck off!” She screamed at it, swatting the bug multiple times with her baton, until she was certain it was dead.

Heading up a small flight of stairs, another roach lept from the shadows. Letting out another shriek, Rhiannon swatted it with the baton, knocking it away and onto its back. As it lay dead with a crushed head, a second roach rushed from the hallway. Prepared for the second attacker, Rhiannon kicked the roach like a soccer ball, sending it into the far wall.Seeing the weak roach attempting to recover, Rhiannon stomped into its belly as hard as she could, roach guts splashing up her Vault Suit’s leg and across the floor.

“Eugh! Why did I do that?!” She asked herself, trying to shake the remains of her foe off her leg.

In the next room was a long semi-circular desk, with a skeleton in an overturned chair on the floor. Judging by the scientist’s lab coat it wore, it could’ve been the doctor that showed her and Vincent to their pods… damn him to hell. On the desk lay a 10mm pistol and some ammo to match. A terminal appeared to be in working order as well, green light emitting from the screen.

“What happened here?” Rhiannon asked aloud, “Where is everyone? Is anyone left?”

Curious, Rhiannon examined the terminal.

* * *

\--- --- --- --- ---

 

**_~Welcome to RobCo Industries™ Termlink~_ **

**_-Clearance: Overseer Eyes Only-_ **

 

 _ >Vault 111 Overseer Instructions _ _  
_ _ >Cryolator _

_ >Operations Protocol Manual _

_ >Overseer’s Log _ _  
_ _ >Open Evacuation Tunnel. _

 

\--- --- --- --- ---

* * *

Desperate to find her son, Rhiannon simply selected the “Open Evacuation Tunnel” option and jumped to her feet. The door on the far end of the room opened as expected and Rhiannon rushed through with her new gun in hand. As she turned the corner, she was greeted by a number of roaches, far more than she’d seen in one place before. Shrieking, she fired wildly at them, forgetting everything Vinny had ever taught her about shooting a gun.

As the bullets ricocheted off of pipes and concrete, the roaches skittered closer. Panicking, Rhiannon dropped the gun to the floor and drew her baton, swinging wildly.

“Get! The! Fuck! Away! From! Me! You! Eight! Legged! Freaks!” She shouted at the insects, punctuating each word with a swing of her baton.

A few of the roaches got close enough to nip and bite at her legs, but Rhiannon was quick to stomp on them. One lept for her face with a scream, and Rhiannon punched it in response, sending it to the back of the line. The Vault dweller kept swinging and swinging until she was reasonably sure that they were all dead.

Panting, she retrieved the gun from the floor and carried on. Passing another two hallways, Rhiannon found herself in the main entrance of the Vault. A single roach stood in the light, back to her. Attempting some stealth, the Vault dweller ducked low to a crouch, creeping towards the giant bug with her baton ready. Once it was within swatting range, she struck with a battle cry.

“Hiyaaa!”

The bug hadn’t noticed her until it was too late, and ended up as a splattering on the floor. As she looked around the room, Rhiannon caught sight of all the assorted skeletons lying around… one with a PipBoy attached to a skeletal arm. A Pip-Boy could certainly come in handy! As she walked towards it, a roach skittered out from nowhere. Screaming in shock, Rhiannon stamped the insect out like a small grassfire.

Looking at the control panel beside her, Rhiannon pressed the big red button. Generally this was a bad idea, but in this case, it was the best she had. A buzzing sound indicated she was doing something incorrect.

“Pip-Boy interface required to activate Vault door cycling sequence. Have a nice day.”

Oh, so she needed the Pip-Boy to get out. Okay. She was gonna take it anyway. She grasped the device, allowing the skeletal arm to fall through the open latch as she lifted it. Attaching it to her arm and fastening the clips, Rhiannon activated the device. She tried to clean the screen of dust with her thumb as it booted up, and soon a little green Vault Boy gave her the thumbs up.

With that, she plugged the Pip-Boy into the console and slammed her fist onto the big red button. A warning siren wailed as the machinery worked to pull the Vault door back open and extend the walkway. She slowly walked out and towards the elevator, sick with anxiety over what the world would look like after the end. The platform descended to meet her, and she stepped inside. As it raised, bringing her back to the surface, Rhiannon began to ponder and think.

How have things changed? How things have changed already…

It all came too fast. It really felt like seconds apart. One moment she was stepping into a pod. The next thing she knew her husband was dead and her son taken. And then a moment after that she rose from her icy grave to skeletons, corpses, and giant fucking roaches. God, what did the world look like?

She’d find out in moments. The elevator continued its ascent and the doors above slowly opened. She was momentarily blinded by the sunlight, hanging in a blueish morning sky. Shielding her eyes, the ascent slowed and then stopped. Rhiannon kept her eyes covered for a few moments out of fear. Then slowly, she peeked through her fingers.

Before her lay the desolated neighbourhood she once called home. Where she and Vincent were to build a life for themselves and their son. The land looked dead and broken. Buildings were in ruin, and were collapsed into themselves either partially or completely.

It was the end of the world as she knew it. And she wept.

* * *

“There. All done.” Simon wiped dirt onto his green mechanic suit. “It wouldn’t have taken as long as it did if you had just let me fucking sleep!”

“Again with the profanity.” Percival scolded as he stretched his new arm and pat his repaired side with the other, “Perhaps the next bar of soap we find should be used to wash your mouth.”

“Oh, suck some nuts and bolts, you shiny shithead…” Simon waved him off.

“Perhaps you should consider building some automated turrets before you sleep?” The Mr. Handy suggested, “If nothing else, it would provide you extra security that I cannot offer while you rest.”

“Alright, fine… Christ on a pike, Percy! I didn’t realize you were programed to be this fucking pushy! You’re making me second guess whether or not I’ll upload a copy of you onto my Pip-Boy.” The handyman threw up his hands in defeat, reaching for his tools once again.

“Who knew that all it took for you to upgrade our defenses was a little sleep deprivation? Whilst you do that, I’ll attend to the garden.” Percy lumbered out of the garage, turning left towards the side with the icebox and armour workbench.

Simon sat cross legged in the middle of his garage, staring down at all the designs he had collected.

“Laser turret… no, needs an external power source, we don’t have that yet. Missile turret? Pfft, maybe someday. Shotgun turret? No, ineffective at long range… and needs an external power source. May have to go with the standard until we bring in some-”

“E-ex-excuse me…?”

Simon’s muttered rambling was interrupted by a feminine voice. Letting out a shriek, the handyman skittered back, sliding on his butt to the back wall. He drew his pipe revolver with an unsteady hand.

“Do you have a g-”

He stopped as he actually saw who was speaking. The gun fell from his shaking hands and clattered to the floor of the garage. The first thing he noticed was the bright blue and yellow Vault jumpsuit. That’s pretty hard to miss. The second thing he noticed was that this was by far the most immaculate, beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was… _clean_. Barely any dirt or dust upon her skin or hair. The worst dirt she had were the stained remains of radroaches on her Vault suit’s legs and arms.

Simon’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth and he found himself unable to speak. Sitting, staring, shaking, silent. Silence. Silence so loud that it swallowed the world whole.

“H-h-have… Have you seen my son?” The woman forced the words out, hugging herself.

Instantly, Simon’s fear was replaced by worry. She had lost her son? Was this some kind of raider trick? No, she was too clean. This was genuine, genuine fear and sorrow in her eyes.

“Your son? No, I…” Simon started, staying put on the ground.

“He’s barely a year old…” The Vault dweller continued, “They took him, they killed… oh, Vinny… oh God…”

Simon could only stare as she broke down into tears, falling to her knees.

“Uhhh… hey. Stop crying please.” Simon finally got the courage to approach the woman, ensuring to holster his gun on the way. “What happened? Where are you from?”

“Vault 111.” The woman sobbed, “Please, did you see-”

“Something the matter, Master Lopez?” Percival asked as he rounded the corner. “Good heavens! A guest!”

“Yeah, Percy. We got a visitor… sort of.” Simon sighed. “Listen, I’ve only lived here for a few weeks, and I just got back from a week-long trip this morning. I’ll investigate your Vault, and in the meantime you can talk with Percy. Okay?”

The woman sniffed and nodded. “Okay.”

“Great. I got a bed in the office if you need to lie down… I’m probably gonna need it when I get back. What’s your name…?” Simon asked, grabbing a rucksack from around the weapon workbench.

“Rhiannon.” The woman responded.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Simon, and this is-”

“Percival Frankenstein Von Newton Archimedes DeRobo, Mark One-Point-Three.” Percy extended his newer arm to shake.

“...Pleased to meet you.” Rhiannon replied softly, shaking the robot’s hand.

“You can call him Percy.” Simon sighed, adjusting some leather straps around his chest. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Make yourself at home, Rosaline.”

“It’s _Rhiannon_.” The woman corrected, sniffling.

“Right. Sorry.” Simon winced at his error as he slung a bag over his shoulder. “Percy’s kept an eye on the area, so you’d be better off asking him about your son rather than me.”

“Absolutely!” Percival replied jovially, “Nothing has slipped my sight in the weeks of Master Lopez’s time away! Please, come inside and have a seat on the couch.”

As Simon trudged towards the ruins of Sanctuary Hills, Rhiannon followed Percival inside the gas station.

“So. You say your son was taken?” Percival asked after a detour to the other side of the gas station to fetch his guest a Nuka-Cola.

“Yes sir.” Rhiannon responded, seated on the loveseat with her glasses left on the cabinet beside it while she rubbed her eyes with her hand.

“Oh please, no need to call me sir.” The robot responded. “I may be no Nick Valentine, but I’ve got a keen eye. What did these people look like who took him?”

“I only saw two. One was in a hazmat suit. The other…” Rhiannon hesitated as she tried to hold back tears, “He was bald with a scar on his face.”

“Hmm. No one I’ve seen since Simon and I took up residence here fits that description.” Percy replied after a moment. “Have you spoken to that Mr. Handy up in Sanctuary?”

“Yes, I’ve spoken with Codsworth… He hasn’t seen them either.” Rhiannon rested her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. “He… he did mention Concord though.”

“Excellent! Perhaps you should start your search there?” The limbed Mr. Handy suggested, “Not alone, of course. I will raise the issue when Master Simon returns. He should accompany you there.”

“Thank you Percy.” Rhiannon sighed. “I just… I can’t believe he’s gone. God, it should have been me… Vincent would’ve known what to do…”

“Who is this ‘Vincent’ you refer to, madam?” Percival’s eye swung down to her level.

“He’s… he… he _was_ … my husband.” Rhiannon choked out.

“I’m terribly sorry for your losses, ma’am.” Percival bowed his eye. “It may not be much, but please let me try to cook you a meal. The Wasteland may not offer food as good as your Vault did, but we try.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Rhiannon sighed.

“Back in a jiffy.” Percival responded jovially as he stomped towards the garden.

With no one around to see her, Rhiannon began to sob. How could this happen?

“Woof!”

Rhiannon looked up to see a German Shepherd sitting before her with no collar.

“Hey boy… you lost?” She asked, stroking the dog’s side. “You got an owner?”

The dog responded by putting a paw on her knee.

“Well, alright. We’ll stick together.”

And for some reason, Rhiannon had the inkling that things could be okay in the end.

* * *

The elevator of Vault 111 descended into the depths of the earth, taking Simon Lopez with it. His Pip-Boy screen lit up to serve as a flashlight, the mechanic examined the landing. Taking things slow, he walked to the main lobby of the Vault. Some Vault suits still remained. With an apathetic shrug, Simon shoved them into the bag.

He moved on to the next hallway in front of him, nabbing all the tools from inside an overturned toolbox. However, at the end of the hall, Simon hesitated as he stared at the long line of Cryo-pods. One was opened, clearly having belonged to their Vault dweller. Simon slowly walked between the two rows of iceboxes, stopping at the open one. Turning around he saw the face of a man with a gunshot wound in his head, blood splattering the back of the inside of his pod. This must’ve been why she was so upset, he must’ve been the woman’s late husband. Or something.

“Shit. _Shit_ .” Simon whispered softly as he made a stunning realization. If Rhiannon had been in this Vault, she had to have been in Cryostasis. How _long_ had she been in Cryostasis? Since the bombs fell?

He needed to find the Overseer’s terminal to confirm his budding theory. Rushing through the corridors, Simon grabbed whatever he could find on the way. Clipboards, coffee cups, cutlery, cigarettes, anything. There was an abundance of roach meat too, freshly killed. One of the more unique finds was an old holotape video game entitled ‘Red Menace’ in the recreation terminal.

Finally, Simon reached the Overseer’s office. He callously pulled the chair out from underneath the corpse that lay on top of it and sat down at the terminal.

It was time to get some answers about just what the fuck happened in Vault 111…

* * *

It was nearing midday, and Simon had not returned. Rhiannon was starting to pace anxiously, unable to rest on the couch or the bed in the office.

“He’ll return soon.” Percy attempted to placate the woman with another Nuka-Cola, “He may have fallen asleep, actually. He did pull a late night.”

“That’s okay… I’ll just have to go to Concord without him.” Rhiannon said, heading to the garage.

“But… but…” Percival attempted to interject.

“I need to find my son!” Rhiannon turned and shoved her finger into Percy’s single eye, “The longer I wait, the longer he’s out there, held hostage by a madman! I have to go!”

Percival remained silent for a moment and then hobbled over to a box, retrieving some armour from it. “These leather straps may not look like much, but trust me, it’s better than that Vault suit on its own.”

Rhiannon hugged the rounded body of the robot. “Thank you, Percy.”

“You’re welcome. Just come back in one piece.” Percival returned the hug as best as his protectron arms allowed. “After all, I suppose you aren’t alone with your fuzzy friend there.”

“Woof!”

* * *

It was about fifteen minutes until Rhiannon was sure she was ready. Before she headed out, she searched the Red Rocket briefly to find some food and water to take, just in case. Percival didn’t mind. She also took a few minutes to inspect the gun she found in Vault 111. Vinny had praised the 10mm as a resilient weapon, best used as a survivor’s last resort. Considering Simon’s gun looked to be homemade from pipes, she felt reasonably sure that the hardy pistol would prove sufficient.

Heading out on the main road, Rhiannon was relieved to know that even when walking, Concord really wasn’t that far away. The relief vanished when the first thing she saw on her way into town was a pair of giant mosquitoes feasting on the corpse of a two-headed cow. The hideous bugs turned in her direction, buzzing menacingly.

“Grrrr!” The dog adopted an aggressive stance, baring his teeth.

Rhiannon panicked, trying to keep a steady aim on the giant insects when a burst of laser fire cut one down from the air. Briefly turning in the direction of the shots, she watched Percy give a small wave from underneath a billboard.

Feeling more confident with Percy at her back, Rhiannon took a deep breath and fired at the remaining mutant mosquito. Her shots weakened it, allowing the dog to leap into the air and seize it by the midsection. Growling, the dog shook his head violently, ending the life of the insect.

“Thanks, boy.” Rhiannon sighed, petting the dog. She turned to thank Percival, only to see the robot was no longer present.

“Woof!”

Turning back to the dog, the animal was further down the road, almost leading her into town.

“Well, okay. Let’s get going.” Rhiannon sighed, jogging lightly to catch up with the dog.

* * *

“Percy!” Simon called as he came around the bend, “You will _not_ believe the shit that I just…”

The mechanic paused as he realized the Red Rocket was missing the presence of a certain Vault dweller.

“Percy, where’s… where’s our guest?”

“She’s gone into Concord, sir.” Percival responded.

“What?!” Simon all but exploded, “She’s fresh out of the Vault and she’s going into the Wasteland _alone_?!”

“No, to _Concord_.” Percy repeated. “Do you require her for something?”

“Yes!” Simon looked as if he was about to strangle Percy… not that he really could. “I found some things in the Vault she needs to explain and… fuck!”

“You only just met. Intercourse at this juncture is-”

“Shut the fuck up Percy!” Simon shouted, “Goddamn, I’m too fucking tired for this. I’m going to bed.”

“You mean you’re not going after her?” Percival asked incredulously.

“I’m so tired that if I go with her I’ll end up getting her killed. And me too. At least this way _I_ get to live.” The handyman slunk into his office, slamming the door behind him.

“You really _must_ work on your people skills.” Percy sighed.

* * *

Rhiannon had no idea what to expect from the world she woke up to this morning, but rescuing a man in a colonial costume from men dressed like something out of those over-the-top Road Warrior comics Vinny liked to read…

That _definitely_ wasn’t on the list.

Either way, she was making her way through the old Museum Of Freedom at a fair pace. While initially loathe to do so, Rhiannon recovered extra weapons, ammo, and some pieces of armour from the fallen marauders, and at the insistence of the man upstairs, the gear of the fallen man outside with similar garb. Fortunately, Vinny’s attempts to get her to hunt with him gave her experience in using the double barrelled shotgun and the (incredibly stubby looking) hunting rifle she retrieved from two raiders in particular. Not that she had any clue how to use the “Laser Musket” the man had directed her to.

“I’m coming in there, and I’m gonna skin every last one of you!”

Rhiannon heard the rough voice calling as she ascended the final stairwell, crouching low. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping her going at this point, her face pale and hands shaking from the knowledge that she straight-up murdered six people on her way through the building.

“Man, come off it. We got other shit to worry about… they ain’t going nowhere.” Another raider’s voice could be heard through the holes in the wall. Rhiannon could barely make out two figures.

“You hear that? We’re gonna take a little walk, and then we’ll huff… and we’ll puff… and we’ll-”

Rhiannon shoved her double barrelled shotgun through the hole closest to the man’s head and fired.

“What the fuc-?!”

The raider’s shout of surprise was interrupted by the sound of a door kicking open and a burst of laser fire. The second raider bore a hole through his chest.

“Come on! In here!” The man from the balcony beckoned for Rhiannon to join him.

“Hold on… I’m… I’m gonna be sick, give me a-” Rhiannon protested before feeling the acid rise in her chest. Seeing no other option, the Vault dweller pulled open a file cabinet and heaved into it, leaning against the wall for a few moments.

“Are you alright?” The man asked, his footsteps drawing out into the open.

“Yeah… Just… never killed someone like that…” Rhiannon gasped out.

“They say it gets easier.” The man responded with a sigh, “But I don’t know how true that is. It was self-defense and you did it to save lives, if that helps your conscience any.”

The man stepped from around the corner, coming face to face with Rhiannon.

“Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”


	4. Carnivore's Oath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of a primary antagonist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Graphic violence, references to drugs, implied sexual content, and an homage to an overused Pulp Fiction scene
> 
> The title of this chapter has been brought to you by Death Valley Driver.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**CARNIVORE'S OATH**

* * *

**Late 2287.**

Meanwhile, far from the grieving mother, the last Minuteman, and the Hispanic mechanic, lay the ruins of an amusement park. Once a large and vibrant trading community, the area surrounding Nuka-World was overtaken by a trifecta of raider gangs, led by their Overboss, Colter. But the Overboss grew lazy, choosing to sit on his iron throne rather than expand his territory to accommodate the gangs under his command. The leaders of these gangs grew weary, restless, impatient, and bloodthirsty. It was a powder keg, prepped to explode.

Then, one day, the impossible happened. After surviving the horrors of the Gauntlet, a lone wanderer was drawn into single combat with Overboss Colter. As usual, the gangs gathered to watch their leader extinguish the life from yet another traveller, one who managed to press their way through the labyrinth that was set before them.

And Colter fell.

After the initial shock wore off, Colter’s second in command declared the newcomer the new Overboss. The reaction was heavily mixed. While his dispatching of Colter was an unprecedented feat, was this man able to rally three bickering raider gangs and cow them into cooperation?

After forty days and forty nights, the answer seemed to be…

Yes. _Maybe_ he could.

* * *

“To the Overboss!”

The raiders around the grand dining table in the Fizztop Grille raised their bottles of alcohol and Nuka Cola in unison, clinking them against each other. They cheered and laughed, celebrating their most recent victory: the retaking of the Galactic Zone, the first step to conquering Nuka-World. Seated around the table were the best of the worst… the Overboss’s inner circle.

Sitting to his right was Porter Gage. Gage was Colter’s right hand as well, and the sole indisputable reason everything was running as smoothly as it had. Without him, the three gangs would’ve descended into anarchy and destroyed each other long ago. An eyepatch hid his right eye, seemingly made from the same material as his armour.

To his left sat Alestair Brownstone. Alestair was the leader of a small raiding gang that focused on producing chems rather than gaining territory. In the days following Colter’s demise, Alestair arrived in Bradberton, and set up shop. Rather than have him killed, the new Overboss brought Mr. Brownstone into the fold. Alestair was a scarred man covered in dirt and mud, the area around his eyes painted black, and the scars on his cheeks accented by the war paint gave the appearance of a twisted clown. Alestair was always getting into the chems he cooked, and none could tell if he was addicted to everything, or if he was resoundingly resilient to addiction.

Behind the Overboss, not a part of the festivities, an enormous figure loomed. Muscled and grey-skinned, with black and white war paint across its body, stood a Super Mutant. No one knows how the Overboss managed to tame such a vile creature, but it swore absolute loyalty to him and him alone. The Overboss called it Goliath. It seemed a fitting name.

Across the table sat the leaders of the three gangs, and their respective entourage. At the other head of the table sat Mason, leader of The Pack. Wearing bright, colourful clothing and war paint, Mason sat alone. It was a daring show of strength from the Pack Alpha, considering the other bosses each had a pair of companions. Then again, The Pack had always believed that “might is right.” And Mason was the strongest of the strong.

To Mason’s left sat members of The Operators. Mags and her brother William sat prim and proper, habits learned as members of Diamond City’s upper class. However, they, and their companion Lizzie all defied their masters and descended from decadence into the raider’s lifestyle. Their focus was almost solely on caps… save Lizzie. Her focus was in her scientific experimentations and endeavours. But to Mags and William Black, greed is good.

To Mason’s right sat members of The Disciples. Unlike The Operators, who were motivated by money, and The Pack, motivated by the animalistic law of the jungle, Nisha and her Disciples were driven by violence. The minds behind the dreaded Gauntlet, The Disciples could not be explained by reason or logic, only through bloodlust. Nisha rose to power by killing her predecessor, and anyone who disagreed. Between Nisha and Mason sat Savoy, her most loyal follower and right hand. Closer inwards sat Dixie, given rank only to keep her leashed.

Others attended and sat at the table outside of the Big Three. Important members of smaller gangs that were recently assimilated joined the feast. Raider bosses such as Red Jenny, Ivey, Vulpes Inculta, Cato Hostilius, and more.

Red Jenny naturally led The Friends Of Red Jenny. Red Jenny was a title, meant for the woman who led the gang. The thirteenth Red Jenny sat at the table on this day. Red Jenny XIII was a curious individual, snarky and snide even in the face of death. Her hair was predictably red, and some say it was dyed with the blood of her enemies. They joined the Nuka-World coalition in the days after Colter’s death.

Ivey, refusing to doff her power armor, headed the Rust Devils, a relatively newer raider gang with a knack for robotic engineering. In a surprising twist, it was the Overboss who approached her with an offer. While the majority of the Rust Devils were in the Commonwealth, they maintained a sizable force in Nuka-World, tirelessly working with their machines. Since their arrival, the park was running smoother, even without main power restored. The Rust Devils seemed to be on the fast track to further influence and power.

Vulpes Inculta and Cato Hostilius were remnants of a powerful raider gang from the far west known as Caesar’s Legion. The Legion was a superpower, absorbing nearly a hundred tribes and gangs into their fold. Vulpes was their spymaster, and Cato one of his best men. Caesar, the head of the Legion, was killed a few years ago, and the Legion broken by the intervention of a courier, of all people. Vulpes took many of the survivors east, choosing to fight another day and find a way to avenge their losses in time.

Finally, at the head of the table, sat The Overboss.

He was a young man, perhaps nearing his thirties. Granted, that was like middle age in the Wasteland. His hair (though he was shaved bald at this time) and beard was black, recently trimmed down and styled by his personal barber. His past was shrouded in mystery, but this is what was known: He must have been, or killed a Vault dweller to wear the Pip-Boy on his wrist. He was formidable with all kinds of weapons, and was very familiar with power armour. He had a multitude of tattoos across his body, many of them self-applied. No matter how many chems he took, he never seemed to suffer an addiction. He also had a keen fascination with music, having a vast collection of pre-war songs stored upon his Pip-Boy.

And his name was Caldwell.

“Thank you, thank you…” Caldwell’s baritone responded to the cheers. “Now before the meal arrives, I believe there are some things we must discuss. I imagine you’re all itching to hear who takes ownership of the Galactic Zone.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense.” Mason exhaled through his nostrils like an angry bull.

“I’ve decided that the Rust Devils will be the ones to take the Galactic Zone.” Caldwell said, prompting an outburst from the raiders.

“Why them?!” Mags asked angrily, “They’ve only just got here!”

“They’re not as powerful as us!” Mason roared, “They haven’t proven themselves!”

“Perhaps.” Caldwell conceded, lighting a cigar, “But remember that my word is _law_. The Galactic Zone is a treasure trove of technology, with a great deal of robots inside. The Rust Devils will be able to use this to build us a robot army, so that we may save our own men when it comes time to invade The Commonwealth.”

The raiders mumbled and muttered to each other. They couldn’t help but see the logic in their Overboss’s words.

“Just so we’re clear ahead of time, let me tell you my… _preliminary_ plans.” He continued, blowing smoke across the table, “The Pack shall be granted the Safari Zone when we capture it. The cages inside will benefit their need to house their beasts. And perhaps there are beasts to tame inside.”

“Acceptable.” Mason nodded, “But don’t keep me waiting.”

“The Bottling Factory,” Caldwell continued, ignoring Mason’s threats, “Will be granted to The Operators. There may be the means to produce caps inside. I can think of none better to control such a building than you, Miss Black.”

“Flatterer.” Mags scoffed, “We’ll see if you can back up those words.”

“Dry Rock Gulch shall be granted to The Disciples once the bloodworm infestation is dealt with.” The Overboss pointed to the trio in metal armour with his cigar.

“Actions speak louder than words.” Nisha responded, “And so far your actions have not yet favoured us.”

Caldwell was silent for a moment, glaring at the masked woman.

“I’ve grown tired of this.” He said, rising from his seat, “All I’ve ever done is give and give, and yet you doubt me still. Did I not single-handedly take the Galactic Zone? Did I not kill the ‘invincible’ Colter?”

The table was silent, looking to each other.

“Let me speak of loyalty.” Caldwell continued, “Those who are loyal, proven loyal, shall be taken care of. I am your Overboss, and the only way I may stay in this position is if I keep you all satisfied. And I shall do so, provided you remain loyal to me. If you are loyal, you will want for nothing. But for now, we are in a transitional period. None of us know what to expect of each other. Frankly, I’m expecting weapons to be drawn before our meal is complete. So I am willing to overlook some of your doubts and borderline insubordinate tones for the time being.”

Caldwell leaned onto the table, passing his cigar back to Goliath, who gladly took up the smoke in his master’s stead.

“But make no mistake. I will not tolerate any movements against me. Loyalty will be rewarded. But if I catch even the _slightest_ wind of a plot against me…”

“Sir! Your dinner's ready!” A nervous man with long brown hair and a goatee wheeled a tray full of covered platters into the room.

“Thank you Harvey. Place the platters where appropriate.” Caldwell remained standing, both hands on the table.

The man very carefully set the platters in their designated locations, removing the lids off of all but the one in the middle. It was a bountiful feast…  considering what Nuka-World could provide. Bloodworm, Nuka-Lurk, Radrat, Ant meat, and whatever could be grown by the slaves and brought in by the traders. “Is there anything else you need, Overboss?”

“That will be all Harvey.” Caldwell waved him off. “Now… where was I? Oh yes.”

Caldwell lifted the final lid to reveal the severed head of a clean-shaven man with short hair. The mood of the table quickly changed, with a suffocating silence filling the room. Vulpes remained stone-faced, but Cato was caught off guard and could not hide his recognition of the man before them: an informant of theirs named Alerio.

“The price of treason.”

The table erupted into violence. Cato grabbed a dinner fork and made a stab for Alestair’s eye. The drug lord was quick to react, his eyes betraying his high as he stopped the fork with his hand. Vulpes swung his chair wide, striking Red Jenny XIII in the head. Weapons were drawn by all the attendees. With a whistle from Vulpes, members of Caesar’s Legion burst from their hiding places.

“I want Vulpes and Cato alive, the rest are dead!” Caldwell shouted his order to his subjects.

Vulpes and Cato were pressed against the wall, limiting their ability to move, but also limiting their adversary’s ability to catch them. Cato drew a combat knife and made a few more swings at Alestair, who deftly dodged and deflected the blows with his metallic armbands. With a Disciple-made knife of his own, Mr. Brownstone made a couple stabs and swings, nicking Cato here and there.

While the Big Three moved away from the table to handle the legionnaire mooks, Ivey attempted to make up for Jenny’s slack by swinging wild at Vulpes. The fox headed frumentarius dipped under the heavy fist of Ivey’s power armour and made a keen strike at the shoulder, temporarily disabling the armour’s arm’s mobility thanks to his Ripper. Knowing his path, Vulpes jumped atop the table and dove for Caldwell, knocking the Overboss to the floor.

As the two struggled on the floor, Cato pushed Alestair back, only to meet a humongous fist from Goliath. As he spun from the impact, Ivey delivered a punch of her own, sending the frumentarius sprawling across the table. The Super Mutant lumbered towards where his master struggled with the traitor, grabbing Vulpes by the back of the neck and casually tossing him back and through the table.

Dazed, Vulpes crawled off of Cato’s unconscious form and attempted to get back to his feet. Alestair rushed in to stab at his neck, but Vulpes countered and disarmed the clownish kingpin with ease. Throwing the dagger at Caldwell, the Overboss was saved by the virtue of Goliath’s meaty arm intercepting the projectile.

A two-handed hammer strike sent Vulpes face-first onto the floor. Goliath grabbed both of the fallen victim’s arms and placed his foot between the shoulderblades of the puny human who lie amongst the ruins of his plot. Despite his struggling, Goliath maintained his grip on the squirming human. With a sickening pop and crack, Goliath yanked up the arms. As Vulpes raised his head to scream, he got a front row seat to the sight of Caldwell’s foot flying towards his face.

Even then, it took another two stomps to put out his lights.

“Bring Vulpes and Cato out on the balcony.” Caldwell panted, spitting some blood from his mouth. “I want to bleed them personally.”

* * *

It was hard to say who had it worse between Cato Hostilius and Vulpes Inculta.

Cato was hung by his feet and beat like a piñata by Caldwell and the other bosses, their participation being a final test of loyalty. His bearded face was coated in blood as he gently swayed back and forth from the latest impact, courtesy of Mason. Meanwhile, Vulpes was hung by a pair of hooks that penetrated his shoulders. Alestair, Goliath, Red Jenny, and Ivey each took a turn inflicting a different injury. Vulpes struggled to fight back, even with his arms having been broken by the grey Super Mutant during the scuffle in the dining room.

“Stay still, little fox!” Alestair hissed as he attempted to hold his victim’s head still while balancing on a footstool. “You’ll look much better with a smile like mine!”

“Come on, Ali! You’re taking too long with it!” Red Jenny whined as she twirled her nine-tailed whip.

“Hold that thought, Mr. Brownstone.” Caldwell ordered, leaning on his barbed wire wrapped baseball bat like a cane. He walked over, dragging the bat against the floor of the Fizztop Grille. “I’d like to hear ‘Mr. Fox’ explain himself while he can still speak coherently.”

“My lord, you’ve got this situation wrong!” The normally calm tone of Vulpes Inculta being completely abandoned, “I was merely attempting to gather all those who would oppose you together so I could expose them! I assure you this is merely a misunderstand-”

Caldwell drew a black .44 magnum and fired a shot into Cato’s head, causing his head to explode and spill to the floor like a cracked egg.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I interrupt you?” Caldwell asked as he motioned for Cato’s corpse to be dispatched. “I didn’t mean to do that. Please continue.”

Vulpes stammered as Cato was unceremoniously thrown from the tower.

“What’s the matter? Oh, you were finished?! Then allow me to retort.” Caldwell continued, looking into his hanging victim’s face. “What. Do. I. Look. Like?”

“What?” Vulpes stammered out.

Goliath grabbed Vulpes by the right leg and yanked. The legionnaire fell to the ground with a sickening thud, the hooks ripping flesh from his back and his leg making a sickening pop from the Super Mutant’s strength.

“Where are you from?” Caldwell shouted down at Vulpes.

“Wh-wha-” Vulpes whimpered a response.

“What ain’t no place I’ve ever heard of!” Caldwell barked, “Do they speak English in What? _English_ , motherfucker, do you speak it?”

“Yes!” Vulpes cried out.

“So you know what I’m saying? Then describe what I fucking look like!” Caldwell shouted as Goliath hoisted Vulpes up in a full nelson.

“Wha-?” Vulpes stammered, only to have the barrel of the .44 shoved into his mouth.

“Say ‘what’ again! _Say ‘what’ again_ ! I dare you, I double-dare you, motherfucker! Say ‘what’ _one_ more goddamned time!” Caldwell had a fury in his eyes unlike what any of the raiders present had seen.

“You’re pale!” Vulpes started weakly, whimpering in pain.

“Go on!”

“You’re bald!”

“Do I look like a bitch?”

“What?!”

Rolling his eyes, Caldwell fired a round into Mr. Fox’s left kneecap.

“Do I _look_ … like a _bitch_?!” Caldwell shouted over the screaming of his prey.

“No!”

“Then why’d you try and fuck me like a bitch?” Caldwell asked like a disappointed father. He waved his finger as Vulpes shook his head, “Yes you did! Yes. You. _Did_. You tried to fuck me. You hear of the Bible, boy?”

“...Yes!” Vulpes gasped out.

“Well there’s this passage I have memorized, it kind of fits the occasion. Ezekiel 25:17.” Caldwell holstered his gun.

“The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.” Caldwell paced before his audience like a preacher delivering his sermon. Not finished, he turned to face Vulpes Inculta once again.

“And I will strike down upon thee with _great_ vengeance and _furious_ anger those who would attempt to _poison_ and _destroy_ my brothers. And you will _know_ my name is the _Lord_ when I lay my vengeance upon thee!” Caldwell was screaming in rage by the end of his speech. Quick as a viper, he forced his hand into Vulpes’s mouth and with a mighty pull, yanked out the traitor’s tongue.

“Let Mr. Brownstone finish his glasgow smile, and then crucify him.” Caldwell ordered to his followers. “After all, the man who introduced the concept to us should suffer it firsthand for betraying us.”

“And the rest of Caesar’s Legion?” Nisha asked.

“Kill them all, however you see fit. In three days time, there had best not be a single one breathing.” Caldwell replied as Alestair drew his knife and stepped up to Vulpes. “You are all excused.”

Caldwell reached down to the floor, grabbing the large cloth used to keep the floor relatively clear of blood and threw it into a barrel of fire. The raiders slowly filtered out of their Overboss’s domain, taking their orders with them. All except one.

“Miss Black.” Caldwell said, not turning his back. “For what reason do you intend to stay longer?”

The former socialite smirked in response.

* * *

“I hope you know what you’re doing, fucking with Mags.” Gage warned as he lit his cigarette.

The next morning saw the Overboss and his right hand man convene as usual. Gage couldn’t hide his surprise as the head of The Operators walked past him on the way in, and it became the first thing he mentioned at the start of their meeting.

“Of course I do.” Caldwell scoffed. “All she’s done is advance my timetable on when I plan on retaking the Bottling Factory. The ‘Big Three’ will all be given equal share… and so will the Rust Devils and the others. _If_ they can prove themselves.”

“Some may call that favouritism.” The one-eyed raider responded.

“Maybe.” The Overboss shrugged, “But remember… I’ve spent some time in an army. The Operators are the only gang I can trust to do things closest to the way I operate, no pun intended. Stealth, infiltration… all useful tools to consider. I can’t trust Mason or Nisha with subtlety.”

“You can say that again…” Gage rolled his eye as a few members of The Pack passed by on the streets below, in all their brightly coloured and incredibly loud glory. Given their chanting and direction, they were clearly on their way to hunt some dangerous beast to prove themselves. It was a fairly common practice in The Pack… how else could you prove you were at the top of the food chain but by killing anything else that would hold the number one position?

“When it comes to taking the Commonweath, everyone will have a place in the plan.” Caldwell reassured his right hand. “Speaking of, what do our scouts say?”

“Well, now would be a _really_ good time if not for the fact we haven’t finished retaking the park.” Gage sighed, “The Minutemen seem to have been stomped out, and everyone’s still too worried about the Institute. Only real competition we have are the Gunners, and they don’t stand a fuckin’ chance.”

“Hmm. I wish I could scout the Commonwealth for myself, but I don’t trust these idiots to not fucking kill each other the second I turn my back.” Caldwell grumbled, “Let’s hope that the window of opportunity stays open for just a bit longer. I imagine if I get everyone their territory they’ll be sated long enough for me to personally survey our future domain.”

The two stood in silence, looking out over Nuka World as RedEye, the DJ of Raider Radio, rambled about the legendary raider boss Atlas and the kill order for Caesar’s Legion. Caldwell lit a cigarette to match Gage and leaned over the balcony.

“When do we leave for the Bottling Facility?” Gage asked.

“Give it a couple hours before we head out to scout the place.” Caldwell responded. “If the reports about the Nuka-Lurk Queen are accurate, we’re gonna need every possible advantage. I need to see Aaron about some explosives, and Brownstone about my supply.”

“I’ve seen a lot of gangs fall apart because of chems.” Gage warned.

“I’ll bet you have.” Caldwell replied flippantly, “But I’ve taken enough Med-X to stop a Behemoth’s heart, and I stand before you right as rain and unaddicted.”

“Hmph. And a fuckin’ miracle _that_ is…” Gage scoffed. “I’ll meet you at the gate.”

Caldwell hummed a response, pulling the cigarette back to his lips. Turning some dials on his Pip-Boy, a familiar song carried from the speakers.

“ _Hello darkness, my old friend… I’ve come to talk with you again…_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, this was one of my favourite chapters to write, if for no other reason than to brutally murder Vulpes Inculta.


	5. Times Like These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon, Preston, and Simon go to Satellite Station Olivia to retrieve Mr. Abernathy's late daughter's locket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Foo Fighters.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**TIMES LIKE THESE**

* * *

**October 24th, 2287.**

Simon Lopez considered himself a fairly simple man. He really only wanted four things: food, water, shelter, and to be left to his own devices. The last of these was something he rarely had to worry about. He generally stayed away from larger settlements, and when he did, he never stayed for very long.

Knowing this, one could only imagine his reaction when the Vault Dweller who he had last seen sobbing uncontrollably over her lost son returned hours later with _five_ settlers, intent on setting their roots down in Sanctuary Hills, practically on his doorstep. Not only that, the Vault Dweller was _Pre-War_! She was over 200 years old! The mechanic was steaming and stewing while he prepared his lunch.

“Bullshit…” Simon grumbled as he continued to stir the radroach stew he was making with the salvaged meat from Vault 111, “This is _bullshit_.”

“Language, Master Lopez.” Pervical scolded. “You were not like this regarding Mr. Abernathy over the hill.”

“Because he’s _over the hill_ and has his farming to take care of! It’s not like he has to pass through on his way home. That… Vault Dweller, bringing a bunch of… we came out here to _avoid_ people, not because we wanted to rebuild civilization!”

“Perhaps Miss Rhiannon was feeling lonely and missed the closeness of her old community?”

“And that’s another thing! She’s over two hundred years old! You’d think that’s something you open a conversation with!”

“Now that’s enough!” The Mr. Handy struck Simon in the arm, nearly knocking the man off the cinder blocks he sat upon, “She was in shock, having lost her husband and her child. Not to mention her entire world has been turned upside down! And here you sit _bitching_ about her hosting some poor souls with nowhere else to go in her ruined neighbourhood?”

Simon rubbed his arm and sighed, “You’re right, Percy.”

“Of course I’m right!” The robot’s tone returning to a more jovial one, “Now you’d best get used to the idea of living with neighbours. Perhaps you could introduce Miss Rhiannon to Mister Abernathy over the hill?”

“Good idea.” Simon conceded, “If anything else, it’ll give those settlers someone else to bother. Lunch first though.”

“Of course! Can’t work on an empty stomach, ha ha!”

* * *

November 5th, 2287.

It had been one week since Rhiannon stepped foot outside of Vault 111. For the first few nights, she cried herself to sleep in Shaun’s room. Dogmeat, the German Shepherd she found- no, _he_ found _her_ \- kept her company, lying his head on her lap and whining out of sympathy. While Codsworth grieved for the loss of Vincent and the kidnapping of Shaun, he was overjoyed at having at least one member of the DiMaggio family return. Codsworth even found Vinny’s old military cap and presented it to her as a gift alongside a holotape that he’d made. While she couldn’t bear to listen to the holotape just yet, she wore his hat with pride, almost feeling her late husband’s presence with her as she did.

The new neighbours also felt the sting of loss. Jun and Marcy Long had recently lost their son Kyle, leaving Jun depressed and Marcy bitter. Preston was the last of the Commonwealth Minutemen. Perhaps this drew them closer together, Marcy’s unrelenting antagonistic attitude aside.

On the first day, Simon had come across the bridge to sheepishly apologize for his outburst the night before and offer his assistance. Thanks to the mechanic, they had the designs to build power generators, water pumps, water purifiers, even defensive turrets. He had also introduced Rhiannon to Blake Abernathy, a farmer who had recently lost his daughter Mary to raiders. The raiders then stole a locket, the last memento of his late child. The story bubbled and burned within her for days and days until finally she had grabbed ahold of Preston and asked that he come with her to USAF Satellite Station Olivia to get it back.

“Okay. When do we leave?”

Rhiannon was stunned silent for a moment, “Wait, you’re not going to try to talk me out of it? Tell me I’m not ready?”

“Rhiannon, I watched you take on a building full of raiders to rescue some people you didn’t know, then a street full, and _then_ a deathclaw. I’ve got your back.” Preston pat the woman on the shoulder. “Besides, thanks to those turrets, I can rest easy knowing Sanctuary is defended.”

“Thank you.” Rhiannon let out a sigh.

“It’s nothing, really.” Preston responded, “We should take Dogmeat with us. That dog helped us out big time, finding supplies and sniffing out enemies.”

“Good idea.” The Vault Dweller nodded, “Dogmeat! C’mere boy!”

“Woof!”

* * *

“There!” Simon sighed as the fifth turret sputtered to life atop the roof of the gas station. “All sides covered.”

“A little noisy, don’t you think?” Percival queried from below.

“What?!”

“I said, ‘it’s a little noisy!’”

“Hold on! I’m coming down!” Simon waved the robot off as he walked over to the ladder he’d placed on the wall of the building, next to the dumpster. Descending it, he met his mechanical minion halfway, “What was that?”

“Sir, my point is proved. Your turrets are too noisy.”

“Because they are running on individual engines and motors.” Simon headed towards the garage bay, “If we can find materials to make some power generators, we will have more options for turrets. Turrets that don’t make as much noise because something else is powering them.”

“But wouldn’t a power generator be just as, if not _more_ noisy? How will you sleep?”

“Like a rock, Percy… like a rock.” Simon smirked, “We’ll just need to find a less noisy-”

“Oh, look! Miss Rhiannon is passing by with Mister Garvey and little Dogmeat!” Percival turned to see the small group passing along the winding road. “Good afternoon!”

“Percy don’t-” Simon started, but gave a sigh as his new neighbours approached. “Heeey… just passing through?”

“Hello Simon, hello Percy,” Rhiannon greeted them, “And yes, we’re going to the nearby Satellite Station.”

“Satellite Station Olivia?” Simon raised an eyebrow, “You know that place is like, _crawling_ with raiders, right?”

“So I’ve been told.” Rhiannon nodded, “But they stole something from Mr. Abernathy, and I’m going to get it back.”

“Well… good luck with that.” Simon nodded, turning back to his garage.

“Sir, why not go with them?” Percy suggested, “I’m sure we could use the salvage, and maybe you’ll find some inspiration within? After all, it is an old military base.”

“I… I’m sure she’s fine with just Garvey and her dog.”

“Actually, we could always use an extra hand.” Rhiannon smiled sheepishly.

“...Okay, I guess I’m going.” Simon sighed, his path taking a sharp turn towards his weapons and armor chests.

“Have fun storming the Satellite Station!” Percy waved goodbye.

* * *

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

Rhiannon sighed and turned around to glance at Simon, hands shaking as he held his homemade revolver in a ready position.

“I’m nervous too,” She confided, “God, is this how Vinny felt during the war?”

“Vinny?” Preston asked, having taken the lead with Dogmeat.

“My… late husband, Vincent.” Rhiannon clarified, her face falling low, “His friends used to call him Vinny.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Preston grimaced.

“And what did he do before the bombs fell?” Simon asked, genuine concern and curiosity overcoming and outshining the tiny hints of bitterness and spite in his tone.

“He was a soldier.” The Vault Dweller replied as they came up a hill, “But the war changed him. I tried my best to work with him, but-”

“Hold up.” Preston held an arm out, “There are three raiders up ahead at a makeshift campsite. We can go around them, or we can fight.”

“I think they’re loners.” Simon took out a makeshift telescope made from pipes and glass to get a better look, “Chances are they aren’t affiliated with the group in the Satellite Station.”

“What makes you say that?” Rhiannon asked, reaching for the spyglass.

Simon jerked it away for a moment, holding his spyglass protectively for a moment before freely, though reluctantly, passing it over. “If they were with the group in the Satellite Station, they’d probably be _at_ the Satellite Station. This feels too far out.”

“What?” Preston shared a confused glance with Rhiannon.

“I… I mean too far _away_.” Simon clarified with a sigh and an embarrassed grimace. “They’re too far away from the… you know.”

“No sense in interrogating them, then.” Preston shrugged, “It’s your call, Rhiannon.”

“If we take them down, they won’t hurt anyone else.” The Vault Dweller said after a moment of contemplation.

That was all it took. The trio and their dog moved slowly, keeping low to the ground. The raiders didn’t see it coming; one of them was eating an iguana on a stick like a kebab, the other two were arguing about something. Rhiannon wasn’t paying attention, to be honest. She was trying to come to terms with the idea that she was about to take a human life.

She was right, of course. If these three men died, they would no longer threaten innocent people. But back at the museum, when she’d killed for the first time, it was purely in self-defense. This was indisputably premeditated murder, no matter how good the reason.

Lost in her thoughts, Rhiannon didn’t see the twig that would give away her position once it was trampled underfoot. The eating raider snapped to attention, the cooked lizard in his mouth. Before he could warn his fellows, Simon was in position behind him, shoving a hand over his mouth and firing a bullet into the raider’s neck, just below where the skull met the spine.

Drawn to the noise, the other two ceased their arguments. One reached for a measly pipe pistol, and the other for a double barrelled shotgun. Dogmeat rushed towards the one with the shotgun, clamping his jaws down on the raider’s arm.

“Get this mangy motherfucking mutt off of me!”

“I’m trying! I’m-” The other raider started to protest before Preston’s laser musket silenced him with a shot to the chest.

“Stupid dog!” The raider cursed, kicking Dogmeat in the ribs.

With a fearsome shout, Rhiannon used the stock of the short shotgun she’d taken from one of the raiders from the museum to bash the man in the face. Stunned with blood pouring from his nose and mouth, the raider was yanked down to the ground by Dogmeat, who went directly for the man’s throat.

“Wow. Remind me to keep treats around the gas station for him.” Simon said, keeping his distance from Dogmeat as he looted the camp.

“Woof!” Dogmeat replied happily.

“Good boy.” Preston knelt down to pat the dog gently, Rhiannon joining him a moment later.

“How are you feeling, boy? Did he hurt you?” She asked, patting his sides.

“Whuff.” The dog let out a small bark in response and shook himself off.

“...I think he’s alright.” Preston shrugged, “Worst case scenario, we can give him a stimpack.”

“Alright.” Rhiannon sighed, “You let me know if you’re hurting, Dogmeat.”

The german shepherd’s tongue hung out as it almost seemed to smile in response.

* * *

Taking a little time for a short rest, the party was on the move in half an hour. Their destination was not far away at all, and at Simon’s suggestion, they detoured around the ruins of a crashed vertibird to come at the raiders from the side.

“Radstag like to come around here for some reason.” Simon said, “I took this road in when I first came to the Commonwealth. You could hunt some for your settlers after we’re done here.”

“That sounds like a plan.” Preston agreed with the Hispanic mechanic.

“Where exactly are you from?” Rhiannon asked.

“Out west.” Simon answered vaguely.

“Okay.” Rhiannon responded irritatedly after a moment, “Are you going to tell me _more_ about what it’s like out west?”

“New California Republic, specifically.” Simon waved her off, “It’ll take a long time to explain, given the two-hundred-or-so year time difference between the world you knew and now, and I believe we have other shit to worry about.”

“Fine.” Rhiannon grumbled through clenched teeth. “So what’s the plan Preston?”

“See that guy up there?” Preston pointed up to a man pacing on a large metal catwalk, “I’m going to try to hit him first. Then we can move forward without him alerting the others.”

“But him getting shot will probably alert the others anyway.” Simon rolled his eyes, “Unless you get him in one.”

Preston cranked his laser musket three times. “Well, we’ll have to hope I hit him somewhere important.”

Rhiannon put her hands on Preston’s shoulders, “You’ve got this, Preston. Relax, take deep breaths.”

“I think he knows how to shoot a gun, Rachel.” Simon scoffed. “The real question here is if _you_ do.”

“It’s _Rhiannon_.”

“Whatever.”

Before the argument could continue, Preston squeezed the trigger and a single line of energy shot from the end of the gun. The laser connected with the raider in the collar, but before he could cry out his skin began to turn white and flaky until nothing was left but dust. His effects dropped to the catwalk while the rest of him was carried away with the blowing wind.

“Oh my… holy shit!” Rhiannon gasped, covering her mouth.

“Huh. Good shot.” Simon pat Preston on the back, maybe a little too hard.

The group moved forward slowly, not knowing if there were other raiders waiting to ambush them. Reaching the rusted chain-link fence, Rhiannon reached for it, only for Preston to grab her shoulder.

“Too noisy.” He whispered.

“Over here.” Simon also spoke in hushed tone as he directed them to a fallen tree, leaned between the thick branches of another of its kind, “We can climb this and then jump over the fence.”

“What about Dogmeat?” Rhiannon asked, her hand moving to stroke the dog’s side.

“I don’t know, he can find his own-”

The handyman was interrupted when the German Shepherd trotted past him, carefully ascended the leaning tree, and the lept from it to the other side of the fence.

“Whuff.” He let out a quiet little woof.

“...Or he could do that.” Simon said with a sigh.

“Ladies first.” Preston drew up his laser musket, prepared to defend the group in case a raider showed up.

Rhiannon gingerly crawled along the log, gripping the wood tightly. Upon reaching the height she carefully stood, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes for a moment. After a few seconds she finally jumped, stumbling and falling to her hands and knees as she hit the ground.

Simon was next. The mechanic cautiously shuffled along the log, his arms outstretched for balance. Upon reaching his apex, Simon jumped, landing on his feet but stumbling a few steps forward.

Finally, Preston ascended the log in a manner similar to Simon. Holstering his weapon, Preston took a look around from his height to be sure there were no raiders afoot before he jumped over the fence, landing on his feet.

“So far so good.” Preston said. “There’s a building up ahead. Rhiannon and Simon, you should check it out. I’ll head up the catwalk.”

“I-” Simon attempted to protest, but the last Minuteman ascended the stairs to his destination, paying him no mind. “Okay… uhhh… ladies first?”

Rhiannon rolled her eyes and pulled out her double barrelled shotgun. Together, the two snuck towards the ramshackle structure, Dogmeat trailing just behind. Reaching the shack, they found it inhabited by a raider who slept on a filthy mattress on the ground.

“What are you waiting for?” Simon whispered harshly, “Shoot him!”

“I can’t!” Rhiannon protested, “What if there’s more nearby?”

“Do you have a knife or something?” Simon asked.

“No! Why would I-”

“Because they’re good for more than killing people in their sleep!” Simon’s volume increased a little.

The raider below snorted and rolled over. Both Rhiannon and Simon’s hearts stopped for a moment. They took a deep breath when they realized the raider was still asleep.

“Besides, this feels wrong, killing someone in their sleep.” Rhiannon resumed the argument, making sure her voice was quiet.

“Look. I understand you’re experiencing some culture shock from being frozen for two hundred years, but in this world it’s very ‘kill or be killed,’ especially with raiders. If this guy was awake and say you sleeping, he would absolutely have killed you by now.”

“Fine. Give me your knife.” Rhiannon sighed, holding out her hand.

There was an awkward pause as both remained entirely still, the raider snoring beneath them.

“...You don’t have one, do you?” Rhiannon slapped the hand she’d extended to her forehead.

“I _may_ have recently… misplaced it.” Simon hesitated to answer.

“Oh for… do you have _anything_ that we can use?” The Vault Dweller gave an exasperated sigh.

“What are you two talking about?”

Simon and Rhiannon both let out involuntary shrieks of surprise at the voice behind them. They turned to see Preston looking quizzically at them, but felt a cold fear in their chest as they heard the raider’s snoring come to a halt. Turning back around, they watched the raider slowly wake up, and take in the situation before him.

“Good morning?” Rhiannon smiled nervously as the man’s brown bloodshot eyes darted around to study the faces of each of the trio standing or kneeling over him. Slack jawed and stunned, the man stayed frozen where he was, propped up on his elbows.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asked.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Maybe.”

The trio looked at each other, and back to the raider, who was not eased by their simultaneous and very different answers.

“Well… if you leave now and tell us where the others are, well, _maybe_ we’ll let you live?” Simon suggested.

“There’s a guy just around the window at the entrance. Ack-Ack and the others are inside the base.”

“Who’s Ack-Ack?” Preston asked, keeping his weapon ready.

“Our boss.”

“Where’s the locket?” Rhiannon took her turn to interrogate the raider.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but Ack-Ack probably has it with the other loot.”

“Okay. Now git.” Rhiannon nodded for the raider to leave.

The raider slowly got to his feet, hands raised over his head as he shuffled away.

“Are we sure that was a good idea?” Rhiannon asked, looking to the other two.

“Eh, it’s fifty-fifty in my experience.” Simon shrugged, “They either find a new group or come back for revenge… _or_ they quit raiding.”

“We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it…” Rhiannon sighed, “What do we do about the last raider, the guy ‘around the window?’”

“Can I borrow your shotgun?” The mechanic asked, holding a hand out.

“Be my guest.” The Vault Dweller passed the weapon over.

Slowly, keeping crouched, Simon crept up to the window. Looking through it, he could see the raider leaned against the wall, enjoying a smoke. “Psst.”

The raider looked over to see the two barrels of the shotgun aimed for his face.

“Hey.” Simon greeted before squeezing the trigger and firing both shots. The raider’s head exploded.

“Okay, we’re clear.” Simon called back to the group, “It’s a _mess_ in there, but it’s clear!”

* * *

Descending into the old military base, the group moved cautiously. Rhiannon took up the lead with her shotgun, Simon in the middle with his pipe revolver, and Preston in the back with his laser musket. Dogmeat walked on the left side of the Vault Dweller, sniffing the air. At the foot of the stairs, Simon grabbed Rhiannon by the bicep, pointing at the doorway ahead.

“Laser sensor.” He whispered, “I’ll disarm it.”

The handyman set to work immediately, and within seconds the red lights blinked out. They pressed on, into the first room.

“What a mess.” Rhiannon muttered.

“If it weren’t for the fact we were told there were raiders here, I’d say this place had been abandoned for some time.” Preston agreed.

“Look, behind this door,” Simon waved them over to the intel room.

“I guess you have your reasons, but that looks like junk to me.” Preston peered through the door.

“All of that ‘junk’ can be used for something. That fan can be scrapped for the steel, gears and screws. That coffee pot’s got steel, plastic, and asbestos.” Simon protested, “You’ll find use for all of that shit for your little rebuilding project. Hell, you can even tear down the ruined old buildings for the concrete and steel.”

“Gentlemen! Raiders?” Rhiannon directed their attention back to the task at hand. “Preston, look through that window and see if you can get any of them with your rifle.”

Preston ducked down under the window, peeking up to get a look at the room beyond and below. A single raider paced the catwalk. “There’s one I can see.”

“Only one?” Rhiannon asked, creeping up towards the window, getting on the side opposite Preston.

“That I can _see_.” The Minuteman confirmed, “But it doesn’t look like there are any in the room down below.”

“Take the shot.” Simon advised, “Sentries like this are further away from their fellows. And nearby raiders might mistake it for a drug-induced hallucination.”

“Really?” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow.

“There’s a saying I’ve overheard from raiders I’ve snuck past, ‘the Jet will make you jittery.’” The handyman confirmed, adjusting his newsboy cap, “Don’t do drugs, kid.”

“I’m probably older than you, even without being locked in the freezer.” Rhiannon rolled her eyes.

Preston took the shot, hitting the raider in the kidney. As the raider stumbled forward, the Minuteman desperately cranked his laser musket twice before firing again, hitting his target square in the back. The raider stumbled and collapsed to the catwalk.

“What the fuck was that?”

All three froze when they heard a voice from down the hall on their left. Dogmeat rushed back to hide behind the desk. The other three similarly crept to a hiding place.

“Alright, cut the shit, who _is_ that?!” A male raider wearing a sackcloth mask emerged from the hallway towards the catwalk, then turned back. His footsteps drew closer as he held up a homemade pipe rifle.

Finally, he reached the threshold of the room they entered in. The raider looked around briefly before shrugging his shoulders, “‘The Jet will make you jittery,’ she said... I guess she was right.”

Simon gestured towards the raider with outstretched arms, his point proven. Unfortunately, he knocked over a coffee mug, the ceramic cup crashing to the floor.

“Huh?” The raider turned around as Simon ducked down. After a few seconds, he shrugged and moved on.

“...Incredible.” Rhiannon muttered, planting her palm to her forehead, “Absolutely incredible.”

“Come on, we gotta take him out before he realizes he didn’t dream up his dead buddy.” Preston urged them forward.

“Simon, your gun’s noise will be quieter than mine, you take the shot.” Rhiannon pushed the man forward.

Now at the front of the line, Simon’s hands began to shake as he held his gun out in front of him. Creeping forward, he stalked the raider as he turned to the left, towards a restroom. The raider walked towards a urinal, preparing to unzip his pants. Simon took the first shot, which flew past the raider’s head and into the wall.

“What the-”

Simon panicked and squeezed the trigger five more times, hitting the raider in the chest twice and head with the third shot. His next two bullets fired hit the wall where the raider’s head was. The mechanic remained frozen in place with shaking hands, his gun clicking to signal its empty chambers.

“Simon, honey,” Rhiannon slowly approached from the side, putting her hands over his and lowering his gun, “He’s dead. It’s alright. You can put the gun down.”

“I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I kinda panicked.” Simon grabbed a cylinder of .45 ammo to reload his revolver with.

“There’s no kinda, kiddo, you totally panicked.” Rhiannon replied, patting the mechanic’s cheek, “It’s okay.”

“Maybe for you, only been out in the world for a week. I’ve lived in this my whole life. Hesitating means death.” Simon responded, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”

“It’s fine, Simon.” The Vault Dweller sighed, her hand moving to his shoulder, “Come on. We still need your help.”

“If nothing else, think of the salvage you can get out of this.” Preston supplied his support.

“Okay. Let’s go.” Simon steeled himself, taking a deep breath.

Preston took the lead this time with Rhiannon in the middle and Simon in the rear with Dogmeat at his side. As they stepped out onto the catwalk, Preston led them to the left. Stepping carefully over the railing, he slowly lowered himself onto a box crate, then down to the floor. The other two followed suit, seeing the room they occupied was empty… except for the corpse on the far side of the catwalk.

The three of them carefully peeked around the corner. They could see three- no, four raiders in the next room.

“Hey, boss, when are we heading out next?” One of them called to someone out of view. “We’re almost out of food again.”

“What about the mole rat meat? And the radroach?” A shrill female voice replied.

“Well, we still have that, but once it’s gone-”

“We’ll worry about it _later_ then!” The voice responded, followed by a screaming curse and the sound of a fist or foot hitting a steel door several times, “Fuck! Somebody pick the lock on this fucking door!”

The raider sighed and headed in the direction of the voice. The Vault Dweller and her companions pulled away from the doorframe.

“How do we want to do this?” She asked in hushed tone, “There’s at least five of them.”

“If we get the jump on at least one or two of them, we’ll have a better chance.” Simon suggested.

“We’ll need cover for when the fighting breaks out.” Preston advised, “Let’s aim for the closest ones and then push forward to that cabinet. We’ll use it for shelter.”

“Let’s do it on three, okay?” Rhiannon waited until the others nodded. Even Dogmeat nodded along.

“One…”

“Two…”

“Three!”

Preston stepped out first, firing a three-crank shot at a raider towards the back of the room. Rhiannon and Simon rushed forward with pistols, firing at the occupants of the room. Preston’s shot wounded the raider, who was finished off by two shots from Simon. Rhiannon unloaded into a raider with a pool cue, bypassing his inferior and hastily-made armour entirely with six bullets from her 10mm.

“What the fuck?!” Ack-Ack’s voice called out. The woman herself stepped from around the corner, wielding a minigun, “You motherfuckers are dead!”

“Shit!” Simon cursed as he dove from the ground. Rhiannon dove as well, meeting him at the cabinet.

“We’re in trouble!” She shouted over the minigun fire.

“ _No_! You think?” Simon responded sarcastically.

Facing back towards where they came from, they saw a raider emerge from a doorway they didn’t notice. With a pair of panicked shrieks, Rhiannon and Simon both perforated the poor unfortunate soul.

“I can’t get a shot!” Preston called from his position further back.

“She’s gotta run out of ammo sometime!” Rhiannon shouted back.

“Die, _die_ , _DIE_!” Ack-Ack screamed as she continued to spray bullets across the room.

“Will that be before or after the cabinet gives way?” Simon asked with a biting tone.

Suddenly, the whirring of the minigun came to a sudden halt, the barrels ceasing their movement.

“Stupid gun! I just fixed you!” Ack-Ack cursed as she threw her weapon to the ground.

Before she could draw her sidearm, Rhiannon and Simon stood and peppered her with bullets. Preston got the last shot in, and Ack-Ack was turned to dust. All three aimed their guns at the last remaining raider, who fiddled with a bobby pin and a screwdriver as he tried to open a door.

“...I’d consider it a personal favor if you spared me. That bitch was cray, and-” The man said from behind his gas mask, hands moving behind his back before Simon unloaded several shots into him.

“What the fuck?!” Rhiannon struck the handyman.

“He was surrendering!” Preston shouted at the same time.

“He was reaching for something!” Simon stomped up to the body and held up a bundle of fragmentation grenades, “See!?”

“...Okay, fair enough.” Preston sighed as Rhiannon searched the tool box at Simon’s feet.

“Jackpot.” She said, holding up a silver locket.

“So we’re good to go?” Simon asked.

“Well… I’m curious as to what’s behind the door.” Rhiannon smiled awkwardly as she picked up the screwdriver and bobby pin from the floor.

“If we’re staying longer, I’m gonna see about cracking open that room upstairs.” Simon turned away, stopping at Ack-Ack’s corpse, “And I’m taking the minigun. For parts.”

As the handyman walked away, Rhiannon got to work. Preston leaned against the wall beside the Vault Dweller as she turned the bobby pin and screwdriver.

“Where’d you learn that?” Preston asked curiously.

“I was always a little forgetful,” Rhiannon sighed, “I’d forget to take the key to my house when I went out for the day and I’d be locked out until I could get ahold of someone with a spare key or call a locksmith. So I just learned how to make due.”

“You didn’t use this trick to steal.” Preston didn’t phrase it as a question.

“Nope.” Rhiannon said as the door clicked open, “But I did break into my professor’s office once to-”

Behind the door was a radroach infestation. Half a dozen roaches of various sizes swarming around a long decayed skeleton, all turned to the door with curiosity and hunger. Rhiannon shrieked and fired a shot, igniting a puddle of gasoline she hadn’t seen. The roaches were burned up in moments.

“Guys! I’ve found the solution to my power problem!” Simon called as he rushed back, “Hey, are you guys cooking in here? It smells like-”

The handyman stopped as he stared at the fire burning.

“I leave you for five minutes… and you light the place on fire.”

“What about your power issue?” Rhiannon asked, directing the conversation away from herself.

“Oh, right, come look at this.” Simon motioned for them to follow him back into the control room. He led them to a row of fusion generators, smiling brightly.

“Behold!” He said, “Virtually silent, and provides _plenty_ of power! Lady… gentleman… I’m going to _build_ a fusion generator.”

Rhiannon and Preston were gobsmacked, stunned silent.

“What.” Rhiannon said flatly after a moment.

“ _I_ am going… to _build_ … one of _these_.” Simon repeated slowly.

“How?!” The Vault Dweller asked, her voice shrill with disbelief.

“No offense, Simon… but isn’t this a little… extreme?” Preston asked.

Simon merely tapped his temple twice.

“That’s one more thing you’re about to learn about me… I can’t stop thinking big.”


	6. Pledge of Allegiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Preston begin to rebuild the Minutemen. Meanwhile, Caldwell has a bad day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, it's been awhile. I was on tour with a band for two weeks, and even before that the last segment of this chapter was giving me grief. I don't know how such a small section was so hard to write, but by god, it was. Hopefully I can get back into the swing of things soon enough.
> 
> TW: Brief graphic violence, implied sexual content.
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Matthew Good.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE**

* * *

**November 11, 2287.**

“I’m coming, hold on.”

Despite the population of Sanctuary Hills being far less than it was before the Great War, Rhiannon had no idea who could be knocking on her door at- she paused to check her Pip-Boy -Eight twenty-three in the morning. Yawning and putting her glasses on, Rhiannon finally got out of bed. When she shuffled down the hall, trying to brush back her hair with her hand, she could already hear the front door opening.

“Welcome, Mister Garvey. Miss Rhiannon should be along- oh, here she is!” Codsworth had reached the door first, an eye on Preston and an eye on her.

“Good morning Rhiannon, Codsworth.” The Minuteman nodded to the woman and the Mr. Handy, “May I come in?”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” Rhiannon smiled, “Codsworth, what’s for breakfast?”

“Well, Mum, I’ve made you a nice little bowl of razorgrain porridge with some crumbled mutfruit.” Codsworth passed the woman a bowl, “I do hope you enjoy.”

“Preston, have you eaten breakfast? Would you like some? I’m sure that Codsworth can make a bowl for you, if you want.” Rhiannon asked as she found a seat across from him, setting her bowl on an end table.

“I’ve eaten, but thank you for the offer.” Preston politely refused, “I came by mostly to thank you for all that you’ve done for these people. I know you’ve got your own struggles, so that just makes it all the more valiant.”

“Valiant? Interesting choice of words.” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, then continued before Preston could correct himself, “I know what you mean though. Thank you.”

“And I hope you don’t mind,” Preston steeled himself for the true purpose of the visit, “But I have a bit of a favour to ask.”

“What is it?” The Vault Dweller asked, sitting up straighter.

“I’ve heard word of a nearby settlement asking for help. They’re still hoping there are Minutemen out there somewhere.” Preston spoke carefully but with passion and intensity, “The only way the Minutemen can rebuild is if we prove that we can help people when they need us.”

“So what’s the trouble?”

“I’d like you to come with me to Tenpines Bluff, to see what we can do to help the people there.” Preston said, a tinge of nervousness in his voice.

“Alright.” Rhiannon said after a moment, “When are we heading out?”

“Well, as soon as you’re ready. Eat your breakfast, and arm yourself.” Preston stood up and headed for the door, “And Rhiannon? Thank you for all your help.”

“It’s no trouble Preston. I know you’ll do the same for me.”

* * *

According to her Pip-Boy, Tenpines Bluff was not that far from Satellite Station Olivia. The pair decided it would be best to go that route, knowing that it had been cleared out. As they approached the old military base, a set of familiar faces were just leaving.

“Simon! Percy!” Rhiannon waved.

“Good morning, Miss Rhiannon!” Percy waved his eye, his arms full of assorted junk.

“What’s up?” Simon asked, similarly balancing piles of junk in his arms, his backpack overflowing.

“We’re going to Tenpines Bluff to help out the settlers there.” Rhiannon replied, “Would you like to come along?”

“No thanks,” Simon responded immediately, “No offence, but the trip to clear out the Satellite Station… well, let’s just say it used up all my spoons for awhile.”

“Your… what?” Preston asked.

“I understand.” Rhiannon smiled softly, before turning to the Minuteman, “He means he just wants to have some time to himself.”

“Do stop by though,” Percival nodded as he hobbled towards the Red Rocket, “Even if Master Simon isn’t feeling particularly outgoing, I’m sure we can find ways to help you.”

“We’ll keep that in mind. Thanks Percy.” Rhiannon waved goodbye to the duo as she and Preston moved on.

“I’m gonna be honest, I don’t quite know what to think of him.” Preston admitted once the mechanic and his machine were long gone.

“He’s got a good heart.” Rhiannon said, keeping her eyes on the road, “He’s a little… antisocial, but deep down, he’s alright. Don’t think he’s the type to fight for a cause, but he’s not the type to just let people suffer.”

“We’re almost there.” Preston changed the topic as he led them over the hills.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence as they soon stumbled upon a wooden shack. Not far, a small field of crops lay. A man in a brown flannel shirt not unlike Simon’s sat at a cooking station, stirring a pot.

“Excuse me-” Preston greeted.

The man responded by jumping to his feet and brandishing a shotgun, “That’s close enough.”

Rhiannon and Preston raised their hands, “Easy, friend. We’re with the Minutemen.”

“The Minutemen?” The man asked, barely lowering his shotgun, “I thought you guys were all dead and gone.”

“No sir,” Preston shook his head, “Not yet.”

“Good.” The man stowed his weapon, “The name’s Emmett. My sister Emily and I have been living up here for a couple years. Lately some raiders have been harassing us, forcing us to fork over caps and crops. We can’t stand up to them.”

“If we help, will you join the Minutemen?” Rhiannon asked, “Things aren’t going to get better unless we work together.”

“Well, we’ll talk about it, but we really need you to take down those raiders. If you can do that, it’s almost guaranteed a done deal.” Emmett replied, offering his hand to shake.

“Good… good!” Preston shook the man’s hand, “Where are those raiders based out of?”

* * *

“The old Corvega factory?”

Rhiannon and Preston sat on a couch as Percival brought them refreshments. Simon sat upon a metal cabinet, his feet dangling just above the floor. The mechanic set his glasses aside for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That’s what they told us.” Rhiannon confirmed as Percival gave each individual a Nuka Cola.

“Lot of salvage to be found there.” Simon mused aloud, “Parts for my fusion generator…”

“Sir, if I may,” Percival interrupted, “Perhaps you could offer tactical advice to our intrepid adventurer friends, or perchance upgrade their equipment?”

“Hmm. Yeah. Sounds good.” Simon looked back to his guests, “Follow me to the workshop, I’ll spill tea while I work.”

“What?” Preston asked, glancing over at Rhiannon.

“He means gossip.” The Vault Dweller translated as the trio walked to the garage.

“Pass me your laser musket.” Simon held an arm out. Preston handed the weapon over. “Now, you’re a sniper support type, and this gun isn’t really semi-automatic… we’ll give it a longer barrel, a better scope, and maybe some extras.”

As Simon got to work, pulling rolls of duct tape out from a drawer, Percival posted the blueprints of the building on the wall.

“So the front entrance is probably the best way to go. You’ll want to snipe out any turrets and the guards before they get to you. Raiders are pretty dumb, so crank that motherfucker and try not to miss. When you clear ‘em out, you wanna go in _that_ entrance, the lower door.”

“What can we expect from the inside?” Preston asked.

“A lot of bodies, but none really in the front.” Simon replied as he affixed a bracketed long barrel to the front of the laser musket, “You may have one asshole watching the entrance, but the rest are further in. Watch out for monkeys with cymbals, they usually act as an alarm system. Anyway, from what I hear of that place, some motherfucker named Jared is in charge.”

“That name sounds familiar…” Preston murmured, looking away as he pondered.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that.” Simon waved him off as he upgraded the cranking mechanism and built the scope, “But if you kill Jared, the rest will splinter off or kill each other in a power struggle. So you don’t even _need_ to kill em all, you just gotta cut the serpent’s head off.”

“That makes sense.” Rhiannon nodded.

“Here you go.” Simon lifted up the laser musket and passed it back to Preston, “And when Jared’s dead, let me know. Percy and I can raid the place for old car parts. I’ll even pay you, in caps or labor.”

“We really appreciate it, Simon.” Rhiannon smiled, passing her double-barrel shotgun over.

“Hmm… already having the full stock is a massive advantage. It means I just have to lengthen the barrel and improve the receiver. I’ll even add some sights so you can aim better.” Simon got to work, “But I am a little curious… you aren’t much of a gun nut, so why are you-”

“So good with this shotgun?” Rhiannon finished, “I went on a few hunting trips with Vinny. Just enough to be familiar.”

“Drag the waters for hidden depths.” Simon murmured, “We’ll make a Wastelander of you yet.”

* * *

Caldwell sat on his throne, a comfortable chair furnished with deathclaw leather and limbs, his head resting in his hands. Before him, the leads of the Big Three stood. There had been an incident between their respective gangs, members of each coming to blows in the middle of the marketplace.

“I hope you all understand,” He said as he looked up, his sunglasses barely obscuring the rage in his eyes, “That it is difficult for me to retake Nuka World for us- for _you_ … when I am constantly being pulled away from this mission to mediate your petty squabbles!”

“But sir-” William Black attempted to interject, but was shouted down immediately.

“Shut your goddamned mouth before I carve you into pieces and feed you to the bloodworms!” Caldwell rose from his seat, spittle trapped in his beard, “It’s not enough I have to contend with a Nukalurk queen in the Bottling Factory, an army of Ghouls and poisoned air in Kiddie Kingdom, gatorclaws in Safari Adventure, and a bloodworm infestation in Dry Rock Gulch… but now it seems I am damned to babysit you like fucking children! If you cannot control those under your command, then you’re fucking useless to me and will be thrown aside and crushed underfoot, do you understand me?!”

The bosses of the Big Three were silent, William Black looking at his feet in shame as Caldwell’s stare burned into them.

“Get out of here, all of you.” Caldwell dismissed them, “And if I swear to Christ, if I hear even the faintest whisper that you’re plotting against each other, or God help you, against _me_ …”

“Understood, Overboss.” Mags nodded, taking her leave with her brother.

“As you say, Overboss.” Nisha replied, leaving just after the Black siblings, flanked by Savoy.

Mason snorted through his nostrils like a bull, grumbling and growling as he left.

After they had left, Caldwell gave a weary sigh and headed out to his balcony loft. Walking to a radio system, he turned on power to the device, rotated a dial and picked up the transmitter, growling into it.

“Harvey.”

After a moment, the response came, “Y-yes sir?”

“Bring me a Nuka Cola Quantum.”

“Yes sir, right away sir.”

Caldwell turned the dial back and shut down the radio, hanging the transmitter back up on its hook next to the radio. Exhaling deeply as he sank onto his couch, Caldwell reached into his jacket pocket for a cigarette. As he did so, the door opened, with three figures walking in.

“Sorry for the intrusion sir, but this woman-” The raiders led a woman with shoulder-length blonde hair into the room.

“Jay-Jay?” The woman asked, spying Caldwell.

Everyone in the room froze, the Overboss staring at the woman curiously.

“Sierra? Sierra Petrovita?” Caldwell’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment before his eyes grew wide as saucers behind his sunglasses, “Oh _no_.”

“It’s so good to see you!” The woman rushed forward and embraced the Overboss, to the shock of everyone, “It’s been what, ten years?”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Caldwell asked, prying the woman off of him.

“Pfft, you think I’d pass up an opportunity to be in Nuka World?!” Sierra scoffed, “What are you doing here? I seem to recall that you were a little less enthusiastic about the world’s greatest soft drink- no, the world’s greatest _drink_.”

“...I own Nuka World.” Caldwell replied flatly.

Sierra was silent for a moment as she took the information in before letting out a shrill, excited squeal, “Oh my god! No way! You have to show me around!”

“No, it’s…” Caldwell put a hand to his forehead, “It’s not safe. Aside from the fact that the gangs under my command are constantly butting heads, the park still needs to be cleared out. There’s a bloodworm infestation, a Nukalurk queen, a-”

“That’s my Jay-Jay!” Sierra pinched Caldwell’s cheek, “Still helping make our world a brighter, better place.”

“You may have free reign of Nuka Town, and I’ll get you some lodgings, but you have to _stay_ in Nuka Town. Don’t bother the raiders, don’t bother the traders, _don’t go into the park until I’ve cleared it out_.” Caldwell insisted.

“Yes sir, absolutely!” Sierra saluted, before bounding over to plant a kiss on Caldwell, “Thank you so much Jay-Jay! You won’t regret this!”

“Too late.” Caldwell groaned.

“Sir? Your Quantum?” Harvey arrived, holding the glowing blue bottle.

“Thank you Harvey.” Caldwell reached for the bottle only for Sierra to snatch it away.

“You have Quantum here?! I mean, this is _Nuka World_ , of _course_ you have Quantum!” She bounced excitedly, before gasping, “Wait, do you have… _other_ flavours here too? Flavors that the Capital Wasteland never got to see?!”

“Give me that!” Caldwell snatched the Quantum from her hands, “Harvey, please give Miss Petrovita a tour of Nuka Town, and have Shelbie give her a few Nuka Cola products… and have her put them on my tab.”

“Yes sir. Come this way, miss.” Harvey led Sierra away. As she left with the slave, Caldwell turned to the two raiders who brought her in.

“Don’t even _breathe_ a word of what you just witnessed, or your punishment will make the crucifixion of Vulpes Inculta look like _child’s play_.” He hissed at them.

“Yes sir, absolutely, never saw or heard a thing!”

“Yes, Overboss, sir, we didn’t see anything!”

Both guards spoke in unison, stumbling over their words.

“Good. Now get out.” The Overboss hissed. Once they’d left, he sank back down into his seat. Cracking open the Nuka Cola Quantum, he took a sip with a sigh, “At least today couldn’t get much-”

The sound of the elevator outside his loft whirring to life interrupted his thoughts. Caldwell looked up as the elevator vanished from view, returning a minute later with a few occupants.

“What now?!” Caldwell roared, rising from his seat.

“You okay, boss?” Porter Gage asked as he stepped into the room with three other raiders, one dressed in an old postman’s uniform, another with a muttonstache beard in road leathers, and the last of them was an Atom-marked skinhead wearing old tattered raiding leathers.

“Gage, my friend… I’ve had a long and trying day.” Caldwell sighed, “Now… I trust the messenger you’ve brought has good news for me?”

Gage shared a look with the postman. Caldwell’s face fell into a deep frown.

“Spit. It. Out.” He growled.

“Well…” The postman swallowed hard, “Between individual efforts of the Rust Devils and your personal scouts, we have determined that the Minutemen are attempting to rebuild. Survivors from the Quincy Massacre have moved into Sanctuary Hills with noted Minuteman Preston Garvey, and have outfitted the settlement with a number of defensive fortifications and turrets. For now, at least, they seem to be using it as their current base of operations.”

Caldwell stared blankly at the man for a moment. He pulled the sunglasses off his face and hung them from the front of his collar. Glaring into the postman, he grabbed hold of the side of the man’s face.

“There’s an old war saying… ‘don’t shoot the messenger.’” He spoke in an abnormally calm tone, “And since good messengers are hard to come by, I am going to adhere to this proverb and spare your life.”

The postman seemed to relax as Caldwell released him and returned the sunglasses to his face.

“However…” Caldwell paused to drink from his Nuka Cola Quantum. With sudden ferocity, the Overboss struck at the skinhead, shattering the bottle across his face. Before he could recover, Caldwell swung a left hook. Raising the broken bottle overhead, Caldwell brought it down into the skinhead’s collar. Finally, as the man screamed and stumbled back against the elevator, Caldwell took a single step forward and kicked the man in the chest, sending him over the edge and down onto the spikes below.

The postman, bearded raider, and Gage all watched in horror as Caldwell stared down at the man. “Boss?”

“You.” Caldwell turned and pointed at the raider in road leathers, “I want you to infiltrate the Sanctuary Hills settlement and act as my eyes and ears on the inside. If you fuck this up, I will make your death thrice of what you’ve witnessed now. Am I understood?”

“Yes Overboss!” The man saluted.

“Gage, get him ready for this. Make sure he’s clean of addiction and focused. Have the Operators work with him on subterfuge and stealth training.” Caldwell turned to his right hand.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Gage replied.

“And spread the word that I am under no circumstances to be disturbed for the rest of the day by _anyone_ outside of my inner circle, on pain of death.” The Overboss added.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of it.” Gage waved him off.

“We’ll be going back to the Bottling Factory tomorrow. I want you and Goliath with me. Get some Operators for sniper support, and some of the Disciples and Pack for ground support. And maybe grab that Brian kid, his Gauss rifle will come in handy.” Caldwell continued as Gage led the two remaining raiders to the elevator, pressing the button to descend.

Caldwell released a growling sigh as he turned around, exhausted by the events of the day. However, he stopped dead in his tracks when he saw a figure standing just outside the door to his lair.

“Red Jenny.” Caldwell greeted in a tone that strained to remain pleasant, “I’m not sure how long you’ve been standing there, but I’ve have a very trying day, so whatever you want from me… spit it out.”

“Can a girl not offer her services to help her Overboss relax?” Red Jenny XIII asked coyly.

“What. Do. You. Want.” Caldwell asked, his tone leaving no sign of hospitality. Red Jenny’s eyes betrayed a flicker of fear as her stance lost its confidence.

“I… I was wondering if… maybe, when we take Kiddie Kingdom… if my friends and I… could have the castle?” Red Jenny asked, wringing her hands. Given how she was normally snarky, this fear she displayed was an oddly refreshing change of pace for Caldwell.

Caldwell let out yet another tired sigh, “I’ll think about it. Now if you were _honest_ about helping me relax you may stay. Otherwise, get the fuck out of my suite.”

She stayed.

* * *

With some salvage of their own in their assorted satchels and rucksacks, Preston and Rhiannon finally exited the Corvega factory as the sun began to crawl under the horizon. Jared was dead, and the raider threat in the immediate area died with him and Ack-Ack… as far as they knew.

“I still find it hard to believe that he knew Mama Murphy.” Preston shook his head as they trudged towards the Red Rocket truck stop.

“Well, their attack on you in Concord makes sense now.” Rhiannon shrugged, “Not that raiders _need_ a reason, but…”

“I know what you meant.” Preston clapped the Vault Dweller on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help.”

“Of course.” Rhiannon smiled over at the Minuteman.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. After dropping in to let Simon know that the factory had been cleared out, they headed off towards Tenpines Bluff. Simon and Percy set out at the same time, arguing all the way. As they arrived at Tenpines Bluff, the sky was beginning to fade from oranges and purples into blues and blacks.

“You’re back!” Emmett smiled as he recognized the pair, “Does that mean…?”

“We took care of those raiders. They won’t be bothering you again.” Rhiannon confirmed.

“Good… good!” The man smiled bigger and brighter, “This is such a relief… thank you so much!”

“Emmett and I talked it over,” A woman spoke as she approached, “We’ve decided to join the Minutemen. Anything we can do to help, just let us know.”

“Of course.” Preston smiled, “We’re just over in Sanctuary hills right now, so if _you_ need anything else, let _us_ know.”

“Thank you again, from both of us.” Emmett shook Preston’s hand, “My sister and I are in your debt.”

* * *

“I have to say, this might be the strangest aftercare I’ve ever had.”

Caldwell rolled his eyes at the topless woman sitting on the edge of his bed.

“You said you’d help me relax. This is relaxing. Now stop moving.”

The buzz of the tattoo gun resumed as Caldwell began to trace a design into the woman’s shoulder blade. They’d briefly worked out the details after sex; she wanted the number thirteen in blood red. Caldwell did a few quick sketches and let Red Jenny pick her favourite before getting to work. The Overboss had set aside his Pip-Boy, plugging it into a speaker to drown the Fizztop Grille in music.

“ _We've only reached the third day of our seven-day binge, and I can already see your name disintegrating from my lips..._ ”

A baritone voice crooned to a bluesy groove, Caldwell humming along to the tune as he worked on the tattoo. Red Jenny turned to look over her shoulder.

“So this is relaxing to you?”

“Mmhmm.” Caldwell kept his focus on his work, “Hell, it’s what I did for a living when I was growing up. There’s something about it that really zens me out.”

“What?” The raider raised her eyebrow in confusion.

“It’s like… meditation.” Caldwell shrugged as he cleaned away some blood and grime from Red Jenny’s back, “I don’t know how to explain it if you don’t get that, but it’s calming to me.”

“Okay.” Red Jenny didn’t really understand, but accepted it nonetheless.

“When this is done, you’re gonna have to keep the area clean and protected.” Caldwell spoke as the tattoo gun started up again, “I’ve got some medical supplies here for that. You’re gonna want to avoid things touching that area until it’s settled.”

“Would you like me to stay longer? So you can keep an eye on me and show me how to do it right?” Red Jenny asked, briefly glancing back.

“I suppose you could join me for dinner.” Caldwell responded after a moment.

“Here’s hoping it doesn’t go like the last time you had guests over.”

“It had better _not_.” Caldwell growled, “I’ve still half a mind to shoot the next person to come through my door-”

Just then, the door opened.

* * *

“Here, you should have one of these.”

Preston broke the silence that had enveloped the pair as the duo passed by the Red Rocket Truck Stop once again. In his hand, a small red revolver-like weapon with a large barrel.

“A flare gun?” Rhiannon asked as she accepted the gift and looked the item over.

“The Minutemen would use them to signal for help.” Preston explained, “I figure you should have one, since you’re helping me rebuild them.”

“Well, thank you. I’m sure it’ll come in handy.” The Vault Dweller smiled as she tucked the flare gun away.

The silence resumed until they had passed over the bridge into Sanctuary.

“I guess you know that I’m one of the last Minutemen…” Preston started, almost nervously, “But I never really told you what happened to us.”

“What exactly happened?” Rhiannon asked, stopping to lean against one of the stone pillars that held up the two machine gun turrets that protected this entrance.

Preston regaled her with the sordid tale of the fall of the Minutemen, the Quincy Massacre, and the series of unfortunate events that preceded their first meeting. Rhiannon’s heart went out for the man, and for the settlers who now filled the homes of her neighbourhood.

“You can’t give up.” She said firmly, “As long as you don’t give up, the Minutemen survive.”

“I’m not about to give up.” Preston responded, “But I can’t protect the entire Commonwealth by myself… hell, I could barely protect these people.”

Rhiannon looked as if she were about to speak, but Preston continued.

“That’s why I’m talking to you. I can’t rebuild the Minutemen… but I think _you_ can.”

“I…” Rhiannon’s mouth dropped open in shock, “I… thank you. That means a lot, coming from you.”

“I appreciate that,” Preston smiled, “But does that mean you’ll do it?”

Rhiannon looked up to the sky, her mind awash with all that had happened in such a short time. She thought back to first meeting Preston, to clearing out the Satellite Station. She remembered first waking from the Vault, cold and alone. She wondered what Vinny would’ve done, had he been here… what would Vinny do? What would he want her to do?

“Okay… I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Caldwell was listening to while tattooing Red Jenny XIII was "Third Day Of A Seven Day Binge" by Marilyn Manson.


	7. Do They Know It’s Christmas?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Caldwell bring Christmas cheer to their respective factions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK GUYS, IT'S BEEN AWHILE.
> 
> I'm not gonna lie, this is why I usually don't post anything until it's done. Between working on my album, touring, mental illness, writer's block and the like... I've been working on this since fuckin' August 2017. That said, I'm just glad it's done and out, and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Chapter TW: Drug use
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Band Aid.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRISTMAS?**

* * *

**December 23rd, 2287.**

“Hi honey, listen…”

Sitting on the couch of her ruined living room with tears in her eyes, Rhiannon turned off the holotape. Even now, she couldn’t bear to listen to the whole thing.

It had been two months since Rhiannon awoke from cryo-sleep and entered into a post-apocalyptic nightmare. But, she’d met some good people in the ruins of the old world. Brave men and women who defied the odds and fought to survive. People like Emmett and Emily from Tenpines Bluff, the Abernathy family, Jun and Marcy Long, Mama Murphy, Sturges, Preston, Simon…

She’d been the general of the Minutemen for a little over a month now. While it wasn’t that hard to watch over Sanctuary, making sure that the other two settlements under their banner were adequately protected, fed, given enough fresh water, and had enough beds for a growing population of refugees that had heard word of the Minuteman revival… that was a different story.

Around the end of November, Rhiannon decided to cash in the debt Simon owed her. She had commissioned the aloof mechanic to build some defensive turrets for the people of Tenpines Bluff and Abernathy Farm, as well as to help Sturges set up a radio tower in Sanctuary. Even weeks later she was hoping someone with technical expertise could come along and take the pressure off the pair of handymen. In the meantime, runners would deliver messages back and forth between settlements.

Standing up, Rhiannon walked outside. A light snowfall had covered Sanctuary in a thin white blanket the night before. Codsworth was under the impression that it would be a white Christmas, bless his mechanical heart. Christmas, Rhiannon thought to herself with a pang of sorrow in her heart; It’d be the first Christmas without Vinny… and they’d never even had a Christmas with Shaun. She’d bought a couple toys for her baby boy, even as early as October, and she’d never have the chance to give them to him.

“Uhh, are you alright, General?”

Rhiannon jumped a little. One of the new Minutemen recruits stood on the sidewalk nearby.

“Yes, I’m fine.” She lied, wiping at the corner of her eye, “Could you see if Preston is busy? If he’s not, would you mind asking him to meet me at the statue by the bridge?”

“Yes ma’am.” The recruit saluted, taking off at a sprint.

Maybe she wouldn’t be able to celebrate Christmas with Vincent and Shaun, but these people deserved one night of joy. And she was going to give it to them.

* * *

“What?!”

Caldwell remained relaxed, despite the outbursts of those under his command.

“You heard me. In two days time I want every single raider to give a gift to a raider of a gang outside of their own.” The Overboss affirmed sternly, “And not some fuckin’ bullshit that’s gonna start a fight. We’re all in this together, even if you hate each other’s guts, so some good will won’t fuckin’ kill you. Besides, the less I have to police your little squabbles, the more energy I can focus on taking the rest of this park and then cutting into the Commonwealth.”

Mason, Nisha, and Mags all looked at each other. They couldn’t deny that there was at least a little logic in Caldwell’s plan, even if it was a load of shit.

“Overboss,” Mags spoke up, “Are you sure that-”

A glare from the bald, bearded man silenced her protests.

“Two days.” Caldwell reminded them, “Dismissed.”

The assorted gang leaders filed out, leaving Gage behind with Caldwell and Goliath.

“Boss, do you really think that this… ‘Christmas’ thing you’ve come up with is gonna work?” Gage asked.

“It doesn’t matter if I think it’ll work.” Caldwell sighed, standing up and walking towards a window to look upon his domain, “We have to try. We spend too much time and energy putting out their fires and not enough building up our forces for our invasion.”

“That’s true…” Gage sighed, “I’m going to go check in on your pet project.”

“Keep me updated.” Caldwell nodded, not bothering to look over his shoulder, “And let me know if you find any other potential recruits for the program. We’ll need eyes in Diamond City for certain, and I want to see about this… Railroad.”

The door closed a moment later, and Caldwell let out a deep sigh. This whole attempt at bringing Christmas to the raiders was a serious gamble, and he’d be lying if nostalgia wasn’t a factor in the effort. But hopefully things would go according to plan and-

“Oh, Jay-Jay…”

Caldwell’s blood ran cold as Sierra’s voice dripped with sultry tone from behind him. Slowly turning around, he beheld the Nuka Cola fanatic dressed in what appeared to be wrapping paper.

“Merry Christmas… would you like to open your present?”

“Christmas is two days from now, I’ve got a busy day ahead of me, and I’ve gotta go, right now, immediately, for a meeting.” Caldwell spoke quickly as he pressed the elevator button rapidly.

“But… but-”

“No buts, rain check for Christmas morning, have a Quantum.” Caldwell grabbed a bottle of the blue glowing soft drink from a table and lightly tossed it to Sierra, who caught it gingerly as the Overboss stepped onto the elevator.

“I’m holding you to that!” She called after him.

As the elevator descended, Caldwell let out an annoyed sigh.

“I can’t believe that trudging through the bottling factory is no longer the low point of today.”

* * *

“A Christmas party sounds like a great idea, Mum!” Codsworth wistfully exclaimed as Rhiannon led the assembled party towards Lexington, “We can make hot chocolate, and exchange gifts…”

“It is, and it will certainly help morale, but why are we going to Lexington for a tree?” Preston asked, “Why not just cut down a tree near Sanctuary?”

“I’m afraid a real tree would catch on fire.” Rhiannon gave a weak smile, stepping over a fallen tree branch, “So we have to go to the Super Duper Mart and find an artificial one. The bombs dropped before Halloween, so they probably have Christmas trees in storage.”

Rhiannon stopped and put a hand on Preston’s shoulder.

“I know going back to Lexington will be hard for you. If you don’t want to go, I can ask Simon, or get some recruits to come with me.”

“I’ll be fine, Rhiannon.” Preston gave a small smile, “Thank you.”

The trio soldiered on, pausing once to kill a bloatfly that flew their way. Soon they had reached the front entrance to the Super Duper Mart.

“We’ll have to take some of this fuel with us!” Codsworth said, his leftmost eye dipping down towards several canisters of Mr. Handy fuel.

“I don’t think Simon would forgive us if we came back without some salvage.” Rhiannon chuckled. “Preston, you keep at a distance if you see ferals. I’ll back you up. Codsworth, I hate to put you in harm’s way, but with that buzzsaw and flamer… you’re best suited for taking the fight to them.”

“I may be no Mr. Gutsy, but I can handle myself in a bout of fisticuffs! Don’t you worry!” Codsworth’s middle eye nodded, “Let us proceed!”

Tentatively, Rhiannon pushed the door open. Shotgun drawn, she stepped inside first, ensuring it was clear for Preston and Codsworth to follow.

“Ferals like to play dead. If you see one on the ground, put a bullet in it to be sure it’s not coming after us when we’re not paying attention.” Preston advised as he entered.

“Uhhh…” Rhiannon looked around. In the main entryway alone there were three ‘dead’ ferals, with another four strewn about to their right.

“Actually,” Preston amended, “We’ll just… keep an eye on them and hope they don’t move.”

The group moved slowly, cautiously into the Super Duper Mart. Their first stop took them to an office, which they raided for supplies and activated a Protectron to draw any hidden ferals. Taking each aisle at a time, they managed to scrounge some Pre-War packaged food and assorted Nuka Cola products.

“Look! A pharmacy!” Codsworth pointed down the way, “Perhaps we could find some medicine?”

“We lost a man in there.” Preston said grimly, “I’d… like to bury him.”

“Of course.” Rhiannon said, putting a hand on Preston’s arm, “Are there any others around here?”

“Two more.” Preston affirmed.

“We’ll give them a proper funeral. We won’t leave until we have them.” Rhiannon nodded.

The group moved towards the pharmacy. A minuteman was splayed atop the counter, a laser musket at his side. As they entered, a gurgling groan signaled the awakening of a feral ghoul on the other side of the counter.

“The windows!” Preston alerted the party as two more ferals crawled into the room, the Minuteman cranking his laser musket desperately.

Rhiannon fired her shotgun at one, killing it before it could touch ground. Codsworth deftly dodged around the human pair and sliced at the nearest feral with his buzzsaw.

“Take that!”

As the final feral landed on the floor from its window entrance, Preston’s laser musket fired a shot that nearly missed its head. With a snarl, it leapt towards the counter, but Rhiannon fired the second shot from her shotgun, blowing it back and severing an arm.

“You need a lesson in manners!” Codsworth shouted at the feral ghoul it was engaged with, blasting it with his flamer. With a shriek, the ghoul fell over dead.

“Oh god! That smell!” Rhiannon nearly vomited at the stench of burning ghoul.

“Don’t worry Mum, I shall loot the room while you and Mister Garvey bring out friend’s body out of here.”

Preston and Rhiannon took the dead Minuteman and hauled him out of the room, placing him in a shopping cart nearby.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The General asked.

“I need to do this.” Preston said firmly, “I can’t just avoid Lexington for the rest of my life.”

“Miss Rhiannon!” Codsworth returned, “I’ve found a few stimpacks and other medical supplies, as well as some assorted salvage!”

“I’m sure we can use that for something.” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow at the toilet plunger in the Mr. Handy’s pincer.

Packing the medicine and junk with the food, the trio continued their search. In a backroom, they found a fusion core, and in another room, a dead Minuteman. As they approached, Rhiannon held out an arm.

“Look. There, on the floor,” She pointed to some spilt oil, “Let’s draw them out and then… the smell is going to be _terrible_.”

Picking a tin can from a nearby shelf, Preston threw it as hard as he could against the oil-covered floor. Predictably, a few ferals poked their heads out of hiding places to investigate.

“Hey! Over here!” Rhiannon shouted, “Codsworth get ready!”

“Time for a barbeque!” Codsworth announced as he launched a burst of flame at the ferals. The ground ignited as well, and the first three ghouls were incinerated. However, more growls could be heard from further in.

“Behind us!” Preston turned and fired a shot towards a group of three ferals, one of which glowed with a sickly green, that approached from down the hall. The shot hit a shuffling ghoul in the head, killing it instantly.

“Take them out at the legs, they can’t chase us if they can’t walk!” Rhiannon shouted back, firing ahead of her at the ghouls crossing the flames.

“Shit!” Preston shouted as his second shot missed the ghouls entirely. With a guttural scream, the feral lept into the Minuteman and tackled him to the ground.

“Get off him!” Rhiannon shouted, kicking the feral in the head, but it did little to dissuade the attacker.

“Back! Back, I say!” Codsworth slashed at the burning ferals that crossed through fire to face their foes.

Switching to her pistol, Rhiannon grabbed what was left of the feral’s hair and pulled its head back, away from Preston. Pressing the pistol to the side of its head, she fired three shots in quick succession.

“Ugh!” Preston exclaimed as the dead feral slumped atop him. The Minuteman quickly pushed it off and jumped to his feet.

The last feral, slower than the others, finally reached Rhiannon and Preston. Glowing brighter, the feral let out a pulse of radiation, and both of the feral ghouls that had accompanied it begun to rise to their feet again.

Oh, that ain’t right!” Preston shouted as he cranked his musket.

“Incoming!” Codsworth exclaimed as he pushed through, sending a salvo of flame at the glowing one and the previously felled ghoul nearby. Both were caught up in flames, but the glowing one survived.

“Fuck off!” Rhiannon shouted, firing the remainder of her clip into the glowing ghoul. Preston fired his musket into it, cranking it three more times and firing again. After all this, the glowing one finally fell.

“Aaaaaah!” Codsworth let out a battle cry as he charged at the final ghoul, slicing its head with his buzzsaw.

“Whew.” Rhiannon sighed as the last ghoul fell to the ground, “Let’s… wrap this up.”

“Ha, ha!” Codsworth let out a laugh.

“...No pun intended.” Rhiannon added sheepishly.

In a backroom storage area, they found what they were looking for. Taking the body of the second fallen minuteman and placing him in the cart with his companion, the group set the Christmas tree box upon a dolly, dragging it behind them.

“The last one is in the parking garage.” Preston said, “We can get there downstairs.”

“We’ll backtrack up here once we’ve got them.” Rhiannon nodded, “Codsworth, can you watch our stuff?”

“Absolutely!” Codsworth’s middle eye nodded, “But please, do be careful!”

“We will.” Preston nodded back.

Descending the stairs, Rhiannon swiped a few tools from a toolbox and a few rolls of duct tape. Passing through the door to the garage, the last body lay near a truck, a feral ghoul hiding nearby. Rhiannon drew her shotgun and crept forward, waiting until it stuck its head out before she fired.

Another ghoul was alerted by the sound, and raised its head from the other end of the garage. Preston’s aim was true, and a shot from his laser musket removed its head entirely. Taking the body of the last fallen minuteman, they returned to Codsworth.

“Good to see you both are unharmed. Let us return to Sanctuary!”

“Yes… let’s.” Rhiannon sighed.

* * *

“And that should do it.” Simon nodded to himself, climbing down the radio tower.

“Only one way to find out.” Sturges said, flipping the switch on the front.

A green light signalled that the tower was receiving power from the connected windmill generators, and within moments, Simon was able to find the signal on his Pip-Boy.

“We did it!” Simon raised his hands in victory.

“Now that we have one working, getting them set up in other settlements will be a snap!” Sturges playfully punched Simon in the shoulder.

“Ouch!” Simon glared over at the Minuteman, “Alright, I’m headed back home. You got things here?”

“Don’t you worry, I can handle it.” Sturges nodded.

Simon walked at a brisk pace, giving polite nods to the various residents of Sanctuary as he passed. Once he reached his home in the Red Rocket Truck Stop, he rushed to his room and flopped face-down on the mattress, letting out a muffled shout.

“Everything alright, Master Simon?” Percival walked into the doorstep.

“I am so done with today.” Simon groaned, “Spent nine hours working on that radio transmitter…”

“But it works, doesn’t it?” Percival laughed, “How about I whip you up something for supper?”

“Please do.” Simon groaned as he took the glasses from his face and placed them on the nightstand. “I am so _done_ with people. I don’t want to see another person for the rest of the-”

“Simon? Are you home?”

The mechanic’s eye twitched when he heard Rhiannon’s voice in the distance.

“Please don’t tell her I’m here, _please_ don’t-” Simon whispered to himself, hiding his head under his pillow.

“Hello Miss Rhiannon!” Percival greeted, “Simon is currently lying down in his office.”

 _“Goddammit, Percy…”_ Simon thought to himself as he got up, making himself just presentable enough to greet the general of the Minutemen, her right hand, and her butler, all struggling to carry assorted junk.

“Not anymore.” He glared at his automatron, “Rhiannon, I am _very_ tired and _completely_ out of spoons, so please, can we make this visit short?”

“Oh.” Rhiannon couldn’t hide the disappointment in her expression and voice, “Well, I’m just passing by to let you know that we’ve cleared out the Super Duper Mart in Lexington. Also we’re having a Christmas party the day after tomorrow, and-”

“I’m going to have to stop you right there.” Simon held a hand up, “Parties aren’t exactly my scene, and I would _really_ like to be left alone right now.”

Rhiannon frowned, “Preston, Codsworth, can you take the supplies up to Sanctuary and drop them off in my living room? I’ll be a minute.”

“Absolutely, Mum!” Codsworth responded, “Shall we inform the others of the party on Christmas Day?”

“Yes please.” Rhiannon nodded.

Preston and Codsworth headed off, the Minuteman casting a glance back at his General. Percival shuffled away to prepare a meal for his master. Rhiannon and Simon stood across from each other in silence until Preston and Codsworth had vanished over the hill and Percival had retreated through the garage.

“Simon, I know you aren’t good with people,” Rhiannon started, “But… I don’t want you to be alone on Christmas.”

“I’ve survived nearly my entire life alone on Christmas, and that’s how I like it.” Simon responded, perhaps a little too sharply.

Rhiannon looked hurt, and gave a short nod, “If you change your mind, we’re getting together Christmas Day for supper, and you are more than welcome at our table.”

The General walked back to Sanctuary at a brisk pace.

“Sir, if I may…” Percival emerged from his listening place, “Perhaps attending this Christmas party will be good for you?”

“I didn’t ask for your fucking opinion Percy!” Simon snapped at the robot, turning to his room. Suddenly a laser bolt whizzed past the mechanic’s head, causing him to duck.

“Now that is _quite_ enough!” Percival shouted, sounding angrier than Simon had ever heard before, “I can’t believe that this is the second time in as many months I have to scold you for your abhorrent behaviour!”

“You could’ve killed me!” Simon stuttered, nearing hysterics as he stood.

“Pish-posh!” Percival tisked, “If I could it would be a fault of your programming. But that is not the point! Once again you are thinking only of your own desires and maintaining the walls you’ve built around yourself!”

“Walls protect people!” Simon strode over to his robot, eye to eye with his automatron.

“From having a good time with friends?!” Percival sounded as exasperated as he could, “Listen here, you Grinch, you! Miss Rhiannon going through a difficult time, and this Christmas party means a lot to her, the least you could do is make an appearance!”

“And what? You’re going to force me?” Simon asked, glaring at the robot.

“No, but I do hope you decide to go of your own accord.” Percy responded. “Regardless of what you think, Miss Rhiannon appears to be fond of you, and she enjoys your company.”

“...She wouldn’t if she knew.” Simon finally looked away.

“Master Simon, please just think about it. Two days is plenty of time to gather the spoons you need to join the people of Sanctuary Hills for dinner.”

With that, Percy finally turned and headed towards the food stores to prepare Simon’s meal. The mechanic stood still for a moment, mulling the conversation over in his head before turning to return to his office. Perhaps a few hours on Red Menace would clear his head.

* * *

**December 25th, 2287.**

“It’s RedEye here, running Raider Radio! You love it, and you know it! Hey, hey- I’ve got an update for you louses, so listen up!”

The radio broadcasted over the marketplace of Nuka Town, as assorted raiders reluctantly exchanged gifts. Ammunition, chems, food, assorted Nuka Cola products, Pre-War toys, arcade tokens, and even weapons passed hands by the decree of their Overboss.

“...And our Overboss claims that he has a ‘special Christmas surprise’ for you rat bastards, and he’ll be coming on air later today to announce it after a big ol’ dinner with the inner circle. Who knows what the fuck Caldwell has up his sleeve?”

Raiders looked at each other curiously. What was their boss planning? Whatever it could be, it had to be better than… whatever the fuck they were doing now.

Right?

“Anyway, I was thinking about the time I came to Nuka-World… I ever tell you deadbeats that story? Doesn't matter - I feel like telling it now. Shut up.”

* * *

The house across from Rhiannon’s had become the hub of Sanctuary in a way. The former home of the Rosa family had a couple workbenches and a frame to hold the Power Armor they’d acquired, and so it stood to reason that the resident handiman Sturges would take residence there. And it was here that tables were set up to host the Sanctuary Hills Christmas party.

Upon the table, a bounty of what the Wasteland could offer was laid out for the guests: grilled radstag, hunted from near the Satellite Station, an assortment of fruits and vegetables, baked bloatfly, grilled radroach, mole rat chunks, squirrel stew, and some Pre-War foods. Truly a feast unlike anything the attendees has seen before.

Codsworth took up his old role of a butler with pride, fetching dinner guests what they desired at a moment’s notice. Additionally, he kept watch over a pot of boiling liquid, hot cocoa recovered from the Super Duper Mart. The settlers of Sanctuary chatted idly, smiles on their faces. Even Marcy Long had little to complain about as she sat beside her husband. Rhiannon sat at the head of the table, Preston to one side and an empty chair to the other.

“Everybody,” Preston stood, raising a glass, “I’d like to propose a toast.”

“We’ve had a hard go of things since Quincy, and thanks to the woman on my left, we have a real chance to make a life for ourselves. We have clean water, farms, beds, and roofs over our heads, thanks to her. And now we have her to thank for the return of the Minutemen… and Christmas.”

“To Rhiannon!” Preston led the cheer as everyone clinked glasses and bottles together.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Who could that be?” Sturges asked.

“Not a Minuteman emergency, they would’ve just shouted through the window,” Preston glanced over his shoulder, “Or we would’ve seen the flare.”

“I’ll get it.” Rhiannon stood, as she was closest to the door. Opening it revealed a very meek mechanic, dressed in his simple flannel shirt with a newsboy cap on his head.

“I… I’d like to join you all, if you’d have me.” Simon said, expecting rejection.

Rhiannon smiled warmly, “Come in.”

* * *

“Now that our dinner is concluded… we may get down to business.” Caldwell said, rising from his chair at the head of the table. Once again his inner circle was assembled, the leading figures of every raider gang in attendance.

“This experiment I have run, this ‘Christmas.’ I was frankly expecting it to fail immediately. Hopefully we will see positive results in the coming months. However, it held another purpose… to distract you.”

It was almost as if someone has suddenly sucked the air out of the room. Mags and William Black shared a nervous glance. Mason spoke up first, slowly rising to his feet, fists on the table.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘distract us?’”

“You see… while you were focused on carrying out my orders of goodwill and keeping your gangs in line, I was out with a small squad to the various sections of the park.” Caldwell grinned, “As it turns out… the cold weather has had quite the effect on the Gatorclaws of the Safari Zone. As with all other cold-blooded beasties, they grew sluggish and weak, and my team and I were able to pacify and imprison them.”

Mason’s eyes widened at the implication. Caldwell’s grin only grew.

“Oh yes, Mason. I’ve done it. I took the Safari Zone. And just as I promised, it now belongs to the Pack.”

“But what about the rest of us?!” Mags shot to her feet in an instant, “You-”

“Also happened to discover that Bloodworms of Dry Rock Gulch are not a fan of the cold.” Caldwell continued, ignoring Mags entirely and focusing on Nisha, “Clearing out the infestation was as simple as destroying their nest and killing their queen. When the weather warms up, I imagine the deep-burrowed stragglers will return, but I’m sure they won’t be a problem for the Disciples.”

“Absolutely not.” Nisha smirked.

“And Mags, the ever so patient…” Caldwell’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “The bottling factory has at last been secured, with the last Nukalurks being a portion of our feast this evening. I am a man of my word, and it now it belongs to the Operators.”

“You really took _three_ parks in a day?!” Red Jenny stared blankly at the Overboss.

“Sometimes you have to wait until just the right moment to make the perfect strike.” Caldwell remarked as he headed towards the elevator, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m due for an appearance on the radio to announce this to the park. You may want to return to your gangs and assemble them.”

The raiders at the table, too stunned to move, stayed put. As he reached the elevator, Caldwell called out to the leader of The Pack.

“By the way, Mason… You’ll find a new friend in the Safari Zone named Cito, raised by Ghoulrillas. He may teach you a few tricks. Treat him well.”

After the Overboss vanished from sight, raiders flooded out of Caldwell’s suite, rushing back to their hideouts to rally their troops. However, two stayed back.

“Hey,” Red Jenny grabbed the sleeve of a scarred, painted freak of a man, “Can I schedule an appointment?”

“Doctor’s in anytime, Scar-scar.” Alestair gave a genuine, though ugly attempt at a smile, “Come by when you ain’t busy.”

“I’m free now.” Red Jenny responded, nodding towards the door, “Your place or mine?”

“If it’s gonna be as loud as last time, mine. I ain’t got as many motherfuckers around and my office got a comfy fuckin’ couch.”

* * *

Dinner was winding down. The Longs returned to their home, and Mama Murphy regaled Simon, Sturges, Codsworth, and Preston with a tall tale from her youth. As the old woman distracted the others, Rhiannon slipped away.

The light snowfall gave a magical, though melancholy and lonely feel to the world as she crossed the street. Rhiannon sighed, wishing they had street lights so she could better watch the fat snowflakes drift lazily to earth. But even this wish had the same undertone as every other wish she’d made on every shooting star and every time she’d spotted a clock reading “11:11.”

Entering her house, Rhiannon didn’t feel like the head of a community, nor the leader of a growing militia. She once again felt like a lost and scared child, a widow, a victim. Her feet carried her to the nursery, to Shaun’s ruined cradle. Standing in the room that Codsworth had meticulously cleaned in preparation of his young master’s return, spruced up with colorful Christmas lights, Rhiannon sunk to her knees and cried.

Suddenly, she heard her front door open and close.

“Who’s there?” Rhiannon sniffed.

“Me.” Simon’s voice carried from her living room along with the sound of boots scraping against the welcome mat.

“Come in, please.” Rhiannon got to her feet and brushed dirt off her pants.

The mechanic took a slow pace in walking through the hall, with a kind of reverie one would reserve for an old and holy church. “This was your son’s room.”

Rhiannon nodded. Simon stood just inside the doorway, looking around the room. Silence settled like the snowflakes upon the ground outside. The mechanic took in the environment, but touched nothing.

“I’ve been an asshole.” Simon broke the silence after what felt like an eternity, “Let’s just say… this time of year brings back a lot of bad memories. But that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“I understand,” Rhiannon nodded gently, “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I… I need to make it up to you.” Simon continued, “You’ve been too patient with me and too good to these people, and…”

Simon took off his cap and ran a hand through his hair, letting another sigh escape his lungs.

“I’m gonna help you find your son.”

Hand to her mouth in an instant, Rhiannon felt her chest hitch as a small gasp unconsciously slipped through her fingers.

“Really?” She all but whispered.

“When the weather clears… I’m going to take you to Diamond City. It’s the biggest settlement in the Commonwealth. Somebody there _has_ to know something.”

Rhiannon stepped up to the mechanic and pulled him into a tight embrace. Simon froze at first but eventually pat the mother on the back. And once again, Rhiannon felt a spark of hope that she’d be reunited with Shaun.

“Rhiannon? You’re crushing me.”

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re still crushing me.”

“Merry Christmas, Simon.”

“I can’t help you if I can’t breathe.”

* * *

“And I don’t know, I just… feel like we’re going to get overlooked.”

Red Jenny was reclined across a red couch in Brownstone’s office. The man himself was seated at his desk in an equally comfy chair, his feet on the table, an assortment of chems within arm’s reach.

“Scar-scar, my girl…” Alestair sighed, “You need to relax. We can’t put our heads together and find a solution if you’re so wound up you can’t see the forest for the trees.”

“You’ve got Addictol?” Red Jenny asked, reaching back for the package of Mentats on the end table behind her head.

“Fuck yeah, I do. Always gotta keep some around for therapy sessions.” The scarred man sat upright, reaching for a bottle of Bufftats, pouring the pills out onto his desk. As Jenny popped a Mentat into her mouth, dissolving it slowly on her tongue, Brownstone began to crush and chop the pills into powder.

“Hmm…” Jenny probed around her mind, “If I’m going to get Kiddie Kingdom, I need… something. Something that those other bosses seem to have.”

Meanwhile, Brownstone had finished chopping and crushing pills, and all but slammed his face into the table. After a few moments, the junkie raised his head with a roar, shaking his head like a crocodile with a gazelle between its jaws.

“What a rush!” He screeched. “Wooo! Okay! Yeah! I got it!!”

“Really?” Red Jenny sat at attention.

“See all them other gangs got a theme going. Pack are animals, Operators are mob, Rust Devils do machines, Disciples are on some Jack The Ripper shit… but you, and the friends, y’all ain’t got no theme. You’re a small fish in a big pond trying to keep up with sharks…”

“Are you going somewhere with this?” Jenny felt herself sink back into the couch, and grabbed another Mentat.

“You need to reinvent yourself!” Brownstone slammed the table to punctuate each syllable, though he was somewhat off time.

“Reinvent ourselves…” Jenny let the junkie’s words linger as the Mentat dissolved in her mouth. Reaching over to the end table again, she grabbed a Jet inhaler and put it to her lips. With the chemical rush, Red Jenny sat back up as she came to an epiphany.

“Wait… that’s it… The Friends of Red Jenny never got anywhere because all we’ve ever done is live in the shadow of Red Jenny… if I want that castle… I gotta turn us into something… bigger, something people want in on.”

“And…” Brownstone took a hit of Jet, “Maybe… if you… perhaps, eliminated or adopted the competition… you’d have a better chance.”

“Then I’d be the queen of the castle…” Jenny sighed, “Oh! That’s it! The queen!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!” Brownstone grinned, rising up to his feet with a package of Addictol, “Good shit, good shit, sister! Yeah! You got the answers you needed!”

Red Jenny rose to her feet, taking the Addictol from Mr. Brownstone’s hand, “Thank you, Uncle Allison, really.”

“Call me by that name again and I’ll end you.” Brownstone responded, punching Jenny in the arm, “Don’t forget to visit me when you’re queen of the castle, Scarlett.”

“Of course. Can’t forget my favourite Uncle.”

“I’m your only Uncle.”

* * *

In a dimly lit room underneath Nuka-Town, the Overboss paced before a line of raiders.

“Ladies and gentlemen…” He started, “If you are standing here before me, then you have been selected for a specialized training program. From this moment on, you are no longer Operators, Disciples, Pack, Rust Devils, or whatever affiliation you carried before you stepped into this room. Now, you all belong to me.”

Some of the recruits, wearing their old colors, shifted uncomfortably.

“I have need of scouts, spies, saboteurs, soldiers. A new breed of raiders that will serve as my eyes and ears in the Commonwealth. And each of you has shown potential…” Caldwell continued, giving a meaningful glance to a former messenger, “Or has a debt to pay.”

“You will learn subtlety from the Operators. How to lie, how to steal, how not to be seen, and how to strike from so far away that you’ll be gone before they can look. From the Disciples, you will learn how to fight in close quarters… and how to torture and interrogate. From the Pack, you will learn how to survive alone in the wilderness and how to hunt the deadliest game. From the Rust Devils, you will learn how to use machines and make the most of the scrap you’ll find in the Commonwealth.”

Caldwell stopped in the middle of the room.

“When your training is complete, you will be issued a code name, and set loose upon the Commonwealth. Some of you will be free agents, some of you will be assigned to infiltrate a certain city or faction. And through your efforts, we will be kings in the Commonwealth! For caps, for blood, for victory!”

The line raised a fist in the air, chanting, “Caldwell!”

The Overboss smiled a wicked grin. “Your training begins… _now_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon's outburst is inspired by personal experience. Christmas is a very hard time of year for me, and while I won't go into details, I will say some years ago I lost my grandfather in the weeks following Christmas. Around that time of year, I can get irritable, and try to avoid people as much as possible, and I suppose that was reflected in Simon in this chapter.
> 
> Also, I'm hoping to transition Red Jenny from a one-note shout out into a fully fleshed out Raider Queen, as inspired by a friend's recent addiction to Fallout 4. Swan, if you read this, I blame you.


	8. Roads Untraveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Simon begin the trek to Diamond City, but hit a few roadblocks along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to a previously mentioned friend, my efforts in writing this fic have been revitalized. I have so many plans now, plans that'll (hopefully) toy with your heartstrings in the best and worst ways.
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Linkin Park.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**ROADS UNTRAVELED**

* * *

**January 8th, 2288.**

It wouldn’t be until a week into the new year that Rhiannon and Simon would be able to leave. Shortly after Christmas, there was a massive blizzard that forced Rhiannon to turn her attention to the settlers that depended on the Minutemen. She spent New Year’s Eve with the people of Sanctuary Hills, crowded in Sturges’ house around the radio to dance to whatever would come on. Simon made a polite appearance for the countdown to midnight before retreating to his home. Finally, an unusual warm spell melted a great deal of the snow and softened the ground just enough for Preston to finally bury the fallen Minutemen from Lexington alongside the fallen from Concord.

Though this warm spell was ending, no snow was predicted for the foreseeable future… though Percival’s weather predictions were not always accurate, they were better than going in blind. For this reason, Rhiannon elected to pack a warmer jacket she’d bought from Carla back in November along with the usual travelling supplies. With a baby blue button-up shirt under a somewhat tattered jacket, she reasoned she’d be fine for now. Adjusting Vinny’s old cap on her head, Rhiannon finally stepped out of her home.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you, mum?” Codsworth asked as Rhiannon closed the door behind her.

“I need you here, Codsworth.” Rhiannon sighed, “Preston is going to be too busy with running the Minutemen in my absence, so I need you to take care of Sanctuary Hills, and more importantly, take care of him.”

“Understood, Miss Rhiannon!” Codsworth held a pincer to one of his eyes in a salute, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep everything running smoothly.”

Rhiannon gave the Mr. Handy a hug, “Thank you, Codsworth.”

“You’re welcome, mum.”

Departing from her homestead, Rhiannon turned towards the bridge. As she walked, she waved to a few newer settlers she hadn’t gotten to know quite yet, as well as a few new Minutemen recruits. At the bridge, Preston waited for her, leaning against a stone pillar with his Laser Musket resting beside him.

“Hey there.” Rhiannon smiled, “Don’t burn the place down while I’m away.”

“I’ll try not to.” Preston chuckled.

The two stood in silence for a few moments, the running water of the river and the whirring of the nearby turrets being the only sounds.

“I hope you find your son.” Preston broke the quiet, stepping away from the pillar. Rhiannon pulled him into a close embrace.

“Thank you… for everything.” Rhiannon sighed.

“It’s my pleasure, General.”

“Ugh,” Rhiannon made a face, “Don’t ‘General’ me when we’re having a moment.”

“Oh?” Preston raised an eyebrow, “Was that a moment?”

Before Rhiannon could respond, a voice called from the other side of the bridge.

“Hey! Rosanna! Are you coming, or what?”

“It’s Rhiannon!” The General called back to Simon in mock anger, though Preston could still see the smile on her face.

“Try not to kill each other. It’d be a shame to lose our General _and_ our best freelance mechanic.” Preston smirked.

“No promises.” Rhiannon responded in similar tone, “Take care.”

“You too.”

With that, Rhiannon crossed the bridge, meeting Simon on the other side. The man was dressed in a leather travelling coat with a green scarf, his signature flannel shirt presumably underneath these other layers.

“Done flirting?”

Rhiannon felt a rush of heat to her cheeks, “I was- we were not flirting!”

“Mmhmm. Sure. Whatever you say, Rhonda.” Simon turned back towards the Red Rocket Truck Stop.

“It’s- _you…_ ” Rhiannon let out an exasperated sigh and followed the handyman back to his haunt.

“Everything in order Percy?” Simon called to his companion as he double checked his backpack and weapons.

“Yes indeed, good sir!” Percival stomped into the garage, “Hello Miss Rhiannon! Do me a favor and try to avoid killing my master.”

“Keyword ‘try.’” Rhiannon gave a wry smile.

“Ha ha! Indeed!” Percival laughed.

“Alright, alright, alright…” Simon rolled his eyes, “I’m packed.”

“Have fun storming Diamond City!” Percival replied.

“I… don’t think that’ll…” Simon sighed.

“I’m sure we will.” Rhiannon laughed a little.

“Bark!”

The travellers turned around to see Dogmeat seated before them, tail wagging excitedly.

“Oh, I probably should’ve asked you if you wanted to come with me…” Rhiannon scratched the dog behind the ear.

“Well, as long as he behaves, I see no reason he can’t come.” Simon shrugged his shoulders, “Oh! Hold on!”

Rushing back into his home, Simon returned moments later with a bone-shaped cookie.

“Hopefully these aren’t too stale. Catch!” Simon tossed the treat into the air. Dogmeat barked and jumped up, catching the treat in his jaws.

“Good boy!” Rhiannon cooed as she pet her dog.

“Woof!”

“Well, let’s head out. We’ll make a quick detour to Abernathy Farm, then head out towards Drumlin Diner from there. After that, we’ll pass through Graygarden-”

“Graygarden? That sounds familiar.” Rhiannon interrupted as they began to ascend the hillside near the Red Rocket.

“One of your settlers or Minutemen may’ve mentioned it. It’s a farm run by robots. I put in an order of seeds a few weeks back, so I’ve just got to arrange delivery.” Simon shrugged, pausing to pick some Hubflower, “You should talk to them about some Minutemen shit or something. Aside from the obvious reason, they’re a good in-between point between Abernathy Farm and Oberland Station.”

“Thank you for the suggestion, if we have time I’ll certainly do that.” Rhiannon smiled. “Is Oberland Station another settlement?”

“Yeah, but there’s only… two people living there last I was in the area.” Simon replied, “Still, they’ll probably support the Minutemen if you help ‘em with something.”

At that point they arrived at Abernathy Farm. A bunkhouse apartment complex of sorts was under construction to house the Minutemen that would be staying on the farm to protect it and assist the Abernathy family. After Rhiannon briefly checked in on Blake and his kin and Simon checked on the power system, the pair and the dog headed southward, following the line of electrical towers. They walked in silence until suddenly Simon put an arm out to stop Rhiannon.

“Look there… Radstag.” He whispered, pointing off towards a trio of two-headed deer, grazing and resting under one of the many electrical towers before them, “If we can get one it’d be good eating.”

Rhiannon nodded, taking out the stubby hunting rifle she’d pilfered from a raider from the Museum of Freedom, so long ago. Simon raised an eyebrow at the weapon’s unmodified state but said nothing. The two of them crouched low, Dogmeat seeming to shrink down as well, and slowly crept towards the Radstag.

“You do know how to shoot one of those right?” Simon glanced over briefly.

Rhiannon scoffed and rolled her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she aimed carefully at one of the mutated deer and fired. Her shot missed wildly, and the animals scattered to the nearby woods.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Simon smirked.

“Ugh…” Rhiannon punched him in the shoulder and reloaded before putting the hunting rifle away, “It’s harder when there’s no stock. Or scope.”

“Ouch! Jesus… if I knew you had that piece of shit lying around I’d’ve fixed it up for you, made it useful.” Simon rubbed the sore spot where she’d hit him and stood. “Better get a move on. Gorski Cabin’s up ahead and ferals like to hang around there for some reason. We can bypass it and stop at Drumlin Diner, maybe Trudy’ll have a better gun for you.

* * *

_“I rock 'em, roll 'em all night long. I'm a sixty-minute man. If you don't believe I'm all that I say, come up and take my hand...”_

In his home office, Preston closely examined a map of the Commonwealth. According to Minuteman reports, the nearby Starlight Drive-In would be a fine location for a new settlement to be built, provided the molerats were cleared out and the barrels of nuclear waste removed. The carcasses of cars could provide good scrap for the building process as well. Additional reports indicated that Sunshine Tidings Co-Op was also, as Rhiannon would say, ‘prime real estate…’

Whatever _that_ meant.

Either way, there were confirmed sightings of raiders and feral ghouls hanging around the area, as well as a non-hostile Mr. Handy, allegedly named Professor Goodfeels. The hostiles would have to be cleared and _something_ would have to be done with the robot. Maybe Simon could-

“Preston! We’ve got ourselves a situation.” Sturges burst into Preston’s office, startling the Minuteman.

“Aah! Dammit, Sturges… you almost gave me a heart attack.” Preston sighed, “What’s wrong?”

“Jun and Marcy have gone missing. I been looking for them all morning and afternoon, and I can’t find ‘em. They told the guys at the front that they were gonna go fer a walk, but-”

“Okay, I’ll grab a couple Minutemen and go looking.” Preston grabbed his laser rifle off the table behind him, “Do you know where they were headed?”

“Well they went towards the bridge, and the guy at the gate mentioned seeing them go… southwest from there.”

“Alright, I’ll head out now. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.” Preston pat Sturges on the shoulder and rushed out.

* * *

“We had a deal, Trudy! Hand over the goods… you owe us!”

“I ain’t giving you poison-shilling chem pushers nothing! Do you know what that junk has done to my boy?”

As the party neared Drumlin Diner, the sounds of a confrontation could be heard in the distance. Rhiannon gave Simon a nervous glance as they approached the scene. Two armed individuals stood outside the diner while the proprietor cursed at them from inside her establishment. Her son was unseen, but likely was inside with her.

“Whoa, whoa, easy there scavvers!” The man outside snapped over to the approaching party, “This doesn’t concern you!”

“You keep waving that gun in our faces and it _will_ involve us.” Simon growled. Rhiannon was taken aback by the mechanic’s tone, but her face betrayed nothing.

“Okay, okay, just take it easy!” The man and his mercenary companion lowered their weapons, “Don’t do anything crazy.”

“What’s going on here?” Rhiannon asked, looking between the man and the store, where she could barely see a grey-haired woman watching them intently.

“It’s a simple business dispute, got it?” The man responded, “Trudy’s sitting on a pile of goods she owes me. I’ve tried reasoning with her, but it seems I’m going to have to take what’s mine by force.”

“ _Really_? Because to me all you’ve been doing is standing out here with guns drawn and threatening her. Hell, you threatened us when we were just walking by.” Rhiannon replied with a hard edge to her tone.

The man’s bodyguard moved to raise her gun, but her employer held an arm out to stop her.

“If you think you can resolve this peacefully, be my guest. That, or we could hire you to help us in the firefight. Either way, I’ll pay you.”

“We’ll _talk_ this out with Trudy.” Rhiannon said with her head held high, “Come along, Dogmeat.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat barked happily at the mention of his name, and turned from a growling attack dog into an excited puppy in an instant.

Simon leaned against the exterior of Drumlin Diner, against the doorframe as Rhiannon entered. Inside, the older woman stood behind her counter with a gun before her. Further in, her son sat in a fetal position, rocking back and forth.

“I saw you and that poison-seller Wolfgang talking… well, he ain’t getting his money. Period.” Trudy snapped venomously as the Vault dweller stepped up to the counter.

“How much does he think you owe him?” Rhiannon asked.

“Somewhere in the realm of two hundred fifty caps.” Trudy scoffed, “As if he’s getting a-”

“I’ll pay it.” Rhiannon whispered to the shopkeeper.

“Wait. You’re serious?” Trudy’s mouth dropped open for a split second.

“Absolutely. The Minutemen are all about helping people.”

“It’d be more helpful to kill that bastard… but thank you.” Trudy sighed, before turning and shouting out the window, “You hear that Wolfgang?! You’ll get your damn money, but I’d better not catch you selling a single drop of Jet or anything else to my boy!”

“Fine by me Trudy, your son’s broke as shit anyhow!” Wolfgang called back, holstering his weapon.

Rhiannon emerged from the diner, counting out the money to give to Wolfgang. Simon fell in step with her.

“We get paid, and I didn’t even have to shoot nobody… Good job. Here you go.” Wolfgang passed some caps back to Rhiannon, “Now can I interest you in anything? How ‘bout I show you all the… _pick-me-ups_ I have to offer?”

“You can interest me in getting the _fuck_ out of here. You and your drugs are not welcome here, Wolfgang.” Rhiannon glared at the man in leather.

As quickly as it dissipated, the tension in the air returned. Wolfgang said nothing, though he and his bodyguard’s hands both rested on their weapons. Simon’s hand gripped his pipe revolver. Each individual’s eyes darted to look at each other, save Rhiannon. Rhiannon’s eyes remained affixed upon Wolfgang.

“You’ve already got your money. Leave now while you’re ahead.” The woman’s ice cold stare continued to bore into the drug dealer until he finally relented.

“Fine. We’ll go. Won’t make good money in front of this shithole anyway.” Wolfgang begrudgingly grumbled and walked away, his bodyguard trailing behind.

“Hmm. Color me impressed.” Simon nodded to himself, “Didn’t know you were _that_ persuasive.”

“I was a lawyer before the war.” Rhiannon shrugged.

“Well, you won’t find much work for _that_ here…” Simon muttered.

“Good thing I’m a general too.” She winked before walking down the road.

* * *

“…And while sometimes I miss the extra set of eyes, I find that the ability to better manipulate objects makes up for it.”

“I’m not sure if I could fathom having a different form than the one I was built with. And besides, with three eyes, it’s all the better to see you with, my dear Percival!”

The two robots shared a laugh. Codsworth had ventured to the Red Rocket Truck Stop to pick up some supplies on behalf of Sturges, who was working on filling the assorted holes in the ruined homes of Sanctuary Hills. A conversation was struck up, and now they were chatting like old friends.

“I wish we could have a spot of tea! Alas, tea is in short supply in the world these days.” Codsworth sighed wistfully.

“That and it would likely fry our circuits.” Percy added, “But perhaps it would be nice to set aside some teacups and play pretend.”

“Oh, how I wish I had the chance to play pretend with young Shaun before the bombs fell!” One of the Mr. Handy’s eyes drifted towards Sanctuary, “The mister and missus had such great hopes and dreams for the boy… I’m sure he would have come to do great things.”

“I’m certain he is still out there, Codsworth.” Percy attempted to pat Codsworth’s spherical body with his stubby Protectron arm, “We must do as the humans do and have faith.”

“And I try… oh, goodness me, do I try.” Codsworth sighed again. The eye turned to Sanctuary caught some movement, and the central eye turned to confirm what it was. “Oh look, it’s Master Garvey!”

“Perhaps we should say hello while we deliver your supplies to Mr. Sturges.” Percival suggested, already walking towards the group of Minutemen.

“Master Garvey! I trust the search for Mr. and Mrs. Long was successful?” Codsworth greeted the Minuteman as they approached.

“Err… yes. Yes we did. They’re… fine.” Preston stammered.

“Ah, good to hear they were not set upon by the beasts of the wasteland!” Percy attempted to give a thumbs-up without having thumbs, “Where are they, by any chances? Still getting their fresh air and exercise?”

“Well… you could say that.” Preston replied.

“Not anymore! You ruined it!” Marcy Long’s voice came from the riverbank as she and her husband approached. Her hair was disheveled and the flannel button up shirt she wore was buttoned incorrectly, as if done in a hurry.

“Again, I am so sorry, it’s just that-” Preston attempted to apologize.

“You shut your-”

“Marcy, please calm down! We’ll try again another time.” Jun put a hand around his wife’s waist and led her back to Sanctuary.

The Minutemen and robots lingered awkwardly as the couple left.

“We found them trying for a baby in the old ranger cabin.”

“Ah. I see.”

“How positively awkward.”

“Indeed.”

* * *

“What… happened to her?”

Simon turned around to see Rhiannon kneeling beside a corpse dressed in ragged robes. The mechanic walked over, careful not to accidentally step in a molerat hole. Squatting down beside the General, Simon briefly investigated the body.

“Hmm. Doesn’t look like the molerats killed her… and judging by her robes, she was with the Children of Atom.”

“The Children of Atom? Who are they?” Rhiannon asked, taking her glasses off for a moment to attempt to clean them.

“Short version… some crazy cultists that worship radiation.” Simon rolled his eyes, “Some of em are friendly, but I’d say about eighty-five percent of the ones I’ve met tried to convert me at gunpoint. I mean, I’m all for religious freedom… but these guys are fucked, and they’re dangerous.”

Rhiannon stayed beside the dead worshipper and closed her lifeless eyes. “Find peace where you sought it.”

“Graygarden’s not far from here.” Simon pointed in the distance as he glanced down at his Pip-Boy.

“Dogmeat!” Rhiannon called.

“Bark!” Dogmeat responded, lifting his head out of a molerat carcass, one of the creature’s stubby arms in his jaws.

“That… is gross and uncooked.” Simon made a face.

“Good thing he’s not giving it to _you_.” Rhiannon playfully slapped Simon’s arm. “Lead the way.”

“Fine, fine…” Simon rolled his eyes.

Simon was right, Graygarden wasn’t far away at all. Over a few more hills and they were upon the ruins of a greenhouse, with a number of Mr. Handy units dutifully tending to mutfruit bushes and assorted planters.

“Excuse me,” Simon said, walking up to one of the Mr. Handy units, “Is Supervisor White available?”

The unit responded with a series of beeps and clicks.

“Thanks.” Simon nodded and turned towards the greenhouse.

“I think this place was on the news before the war.” Rhiannon mused aloud as they passed box planters with melons and gourds, “I didn’t think it was finished.”

“Good afternoon and welcome to Graygarden darlings,” A white-painted Handy unit with a feminine voice box greeted them, “Oh, Mr. Lopez, a pleasure to see you!”

“Likewise Mrs. White,” Simon responded cooly, “Is my order ready?”

“It is indeed, darling,” Supervisor White turned to collect several seed packets, “Thank you so much for clearing up the water situation.”

“By any chance, could you have any of your workers deliver it to my homestead in-”

“I’m afraid such a thing is impossible, the units are programmed to stay within a set boundary.” Supervisor White replied.

“What about Dogmeat?” Rhiannon knelt to pat the dog, “We could put a little backpack on him and send him back home.”

“White, do you have anything we could use to make a little carrying case for a dog?” Simon asked.

“I’m sure we have something around. Feel free to use the workshop, darling.”

“Thank you kindly.” Simon nodded and headed off. About ten minutes later, he had made a makeshift backpack for Dogmeat.

“Here you go, boy. It’s like a hug. All the time.” Rhiannon coaxed the dog into the leather harness, “Alright, you give these to Percy and come right back, okay?”

“Woof!”

“Good boy.” Rhiannon pat the dog.

“Bark!” Dogmeat ran off in the direction of Sanctuary Hills.

“Let’s keep moving.” Simon nodded his head towards a railway bridge that spanned the nearby river, “Oberland Station’s just over there, we can stop to rest there.”

After a few moments of walking in silence, Rhiannon tilted her head toward Simon.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

“What?” Simon asked, briefly looking over his shoulder.

“You know you’re not all that bad, right?”

“I… e-ex-excuse me?” Simon stuttered, coming to a brief stop.

“You’re not all that bad.” Rhiannon repeated, walking past him towards the railroad tracks on the hillside, leading towards a bridge.

“You’re gonna have to explain that.” Simon said, having to lightly jog for a moment to catch back up.

“I know you’re not good with people, and you can be rude sometimes,” Rhiannon started, balancing on the railway tracks as they walked, “But when you’re comfortable… you can be funny and sweet. You’ve definitely got a heart of gold behind all those walls you’ve put up.”

“Rhiannon… I…” Simon was gobsmacked, “That means a lot coming from you.”

The General stopped to turn to the mechanic, “What do you mean?”

“Well… I mean-”

Suddenly a loud gunshot rang out in front of them. At the far end of the bridge, in the direction they were travelling, a group of four raiders had gathered.

“Does we have your attention, scavvers?” The leading figure, with a beat up hunting rifle screamed from underneath a sackcloth hood with holes cut for his goggles to poke through.

“What?” Rhiannon called back with a shit-eating grin, “I can’t hear you!”

“I said, do we have your-” The raider attempted to scream louder before growling in frustration, “You’re in Tower Tom’s territory now, you dumb bitch! Hand over your goods and we might let you live!”

“You only _might_ let us live?” Rhiannon responded, glancing over at Simon. The mechanic had a far away look in his eyes, and she could sense the subtle shaking in his nervous hands, “Not much of a reason to give you anything!”

“Then we’ll take it from yer-”

“Hey! Back off!” A set of voices came from behind the travelling pair. Rhiannon and Simon turned around to see another small group of raiders on the side of the bridge they’d come from, “We saw them first from under the bridge!”

“Rebar, is that you, you dumb traitor bastard dickbag cunt?!” The hooded raider cursed, “Find your own score, they’re on our side of the river!”

“Suck your sister’s cock, you cowardly bitch!” Rebar cursed back, “They walked right over our heads, they’re ours!”

“What do we do?” Simon whispered over to Rhiannon as the raider groups argued back and forth, “We’re sitting ducks out here… there’s nowhere to go!”

“There’s one place we can go.” Rhiannon looked over the edge of the bridge, “We can jump into the river.”

“I think that railcar down there is open. It might have a pocket of air if we can make it inside.” Simon mused, “We’ll need to get the Rad-X from my backpack, we don’t know how long we’ll be wading in there.”

“After we kill these scavver fucks, you’re next!” Rebar’s shout interrupted the pair’s planning.

“Not if we kill ‘em first!” The hooded raider screamed back.

“No time, jump!” Rhiannon grabbed Simon by the arm and pulled him with her towards the edge of the bridge. Amidst the gunfire, the pair clamored over the barricade and jumped as far away from the conflict as they could, landing in the river with a splash.

Even under the water they could hear the sounds of gunfire, with very few bullets fired in their direction. Apparently the hate these raiders had for each other trumped their need to hunt them down. Going with the current, Rhiannon swam through the murky water to the railcar, finding Simon just inside, an arm outstretched to guide her in. As predicted, there was a small pocket where they could force their heads up and breathe.

“We made it.” Rhiannon sighed, smiling a little as she shivered in the cold water.

“Not yet. Not until they’re long gone.” Simon whispered grimly, as the sounds of battle continued above them.

“How… how long do we have to stay down here?” Rhiannon asked, nervousness sinking in.

“I… don’t know. An hour?” Simon attempted to find some solid footing but failed, “I don’t know if I can tread water that long, especially with all this-”

“Shh… it’ll be okay, I promise. Hang in there, Simon.” Rhiannon attempted to reassure him, though unable to hide the fear in her voice.

Shouting, screaming, and gunfire raged above them, occasionally punctuated by what sounded like glass shattering. The distant battle lasted for what felt like forever, though Rhiannon’s Pip-Boy informed them it was closer to ten minutes before the guns fell silent.

“That’ll fuckin’ teach em.” An unfamiliar voice above said.

“They can’t learn shit if they’re dead! And those scavvers got away!” A higher-pitched voice replied.

“We lost some… but so did they.” A third voice said, barely audible.

“Should we go home? Or keep looking?” The high-pitched voice asked.

The resulting argument was unheard to Rhiannon as she glanced over at Simon. The mechanic’s hat had been lost to the river (a subtle reminder that it was a good idea to leave Vinny’s old cap behind), and he was clearly not happy about it. His deep brown hair, despite how wet it was, stuck up in places. However, something caught Rhiannon’s eye that truly shocked her.

An set of old scars: a pair of bullet wounds not far from his temple.

“Rhiannon?” Simon caught her staring.

“I… are you okay?” Rhiannon stammered.

“We’re in ice cold irradiated water and being hunted by raiders, so no, I’m not really okay.” Simon whispered harshly as his teeth clicked against each other, “We have to wait until they’ve given up…”

“It’ll be okay,” Rhiannon repeated, “I promise.”

“You don’t sound sure.” Simon squinted at her in the dark.

Rhiannon fell silent. Aside from the water shifting and splashing around in the inside of the railcar, they could scarcely hear anything. Apparently the raiders that sought them decided to look downstream for any sign of them. After an agonizing hour-long wait, Simon finally spoke up once again.

“They have to be gone by now.”

Rhiannon nodded wordlessly. Taking one last deep breath of air, the two sunk below the icy water and made a break for shore. Emerging from the darkened waters under a faded sun, the two crept low as they made their way along the railroad tracks.

“Oh, great…” Simon groaned as white flakes fell from the sky, “This is just what we needed…”

“Please tell me we’re not far.” Rhiannon shivered.

“We’re not far, I promise.” Simon said pointing in the distance, “See that faint glow? Oberland Station.”

Following the direction of Simon’s finger, Rhiannon could make out the distant light of a lantern. “Come on, we gotta push through.”

The pair struggled against the cold and their own exhaustion until they came upon the settlement, a single tower with a fenced area for tatoes to grow. However, Simon grew fearful as something became more and more apparent the closer they got.

“There’s no one home. Where are they?”

Rhiannon looked around the area, even carefully climbing the slick steps of the railway check station to see a pair of empty beds, but a lit lantern.

“Emma? Angela? It’s Simon! I fixed your-”

“Simon!” Rhiannon called, as something caught her eye, “You need to see this!”

The mechanic hurried up the stairs, slipping on the way, but catching himself. At the top, he saw what Rhiannon referred to: dried blood splattered across the floor and wall.

“What happened here?” Simon gasped.

“Nothing good.” Rhiannon sighed, “Do you think it was those raiders?”

“I don’t know, but there’s nothing we can do right now.” Simon grabbed the lantern and passed it over, “We need to get somewhere dry and out of this weather. There’s a lower part to this station, but we’ll have to break open the door.”

Rhiannon nodded and guided Simon back down the steps. Setting the lantern on a nearby workbench, the pair struggled to break or pry off the boards that covered the door under the stairs. After nearly ten minutes of struggle, they finally succeeded, and rushed into the lower part of the building.

The long abandoned interior was fairly bare, and covered in dirt and dust. Apart from a few shelves and a ladder leading to the ceiling, all the furniture, goods, and salvage had long been removed at some point after the bombs fell.

“...We didn’t have to break down the door.” Simon grumbled, noticing the ladder.

“Too late now.” Rhiannon responded, moving the lantern inside and placing it on one of the shelves. Simon put his backpack on one of the sturdier-looking counters, sifting through his belongings.

“Shit. I thought I made this thing waterproof.” He cursed, “Not everything’s soaked, but… fuck.”

Rhiannon searched through her bag of things, finding the contents soaked… all but a single item she forgot she’d packed: a Vault 111 jumpsuit, still sealed in a plastic bag. Glancing over at Simon, she saw that he had one as well, still in its bag. Simon set it aside as he sorted through his pack.

“We need to set up bedrolls, and eat something,” Simon rambled, “And we need to get out of these wet clothes or we’ll freeze.”

“Simon, there’s… nowhere to really go change.” Rhiannon felt heat rush to her face, “The weather outside is frightful and…”

“Oh.” The implications hit Simon like a speeding truck, and he froze like a deer caught in headlights, “I can… I can turn around. If you want. I mean, of course you’d want me to turn around. It’s not like… I… you… uhh…”

“Simon.” Rhiannon interrupted sternly, “Turn around please.”

“Yes, dear.” Simon quickly turned, “I’m going to get changed too so… uhhh… yeah.”

Rhiannon raised an eyebrow at Simon’s exclamation, but chalked up it to nervousness. Taking a moment to try and get some of the partially-frozen water out of her hair, Rhiannon could hear Simon shedding his assorted layers behind her. He had certainly dressed better than she did for travel. After a few moments she heard the mechanic let out a surprised yelp before he fell to the ground.

“Are you okay Simon?” She asked, trying not to glance over her shoulder in case he was in a state of undress.

“Taped my boots to my pant legs. I fell.” He responded after a moment, “I’m fine.”

Rhiannon hummed a response as she returned to her business. Struggling for a moment to open the plastic bag, she left the suit inside. As she started to pry open the buttons of her somewhat stiffened first layer, Rhiannon heard the sound of Simon’s plastic bag opening.

Perhaps it was instinctive that she turned in the direction of the noise. Perhaps it was curiosity. Nonetheless, she turned and saw Simon stripped bare, a few scars visible across his back and sides. Her stare lingered on his posterior… and not just because of the old scar of a bullet wound on the right cheek. Gathering her senses, Rhiannon quickly turned away, and continued to escape the wet clothes that clung to her.

Simon, of course, was anxious to get the whole thing over with. After finally escaping the soaked trap of leather and duct tape he’d crafted for long hauls such as this one, he was eager to get into something dry. And hopefully warm. He hadn’t worn a Vault suit in a long time, and he was still out west back then.

Despite his constant internal monologue screaming, “ _Don’t turn around, don’t turn around,_ ” Simon couldn’t help but peek over his shoulder as he heard the start of a Vault suit being zipped up. While she was covered from the waist down, Simon caught a glimpse of the General’s bare back and a side view of her breasts.

“ _Turn around! Turn around!_ ” Screamed the voice in Simon’s head, but he was once again caught like a deer in headlights. He felt his mouth begin to dry up as Rhiannon pulled the Vault suit over her shoulders. Finally, he turned away as she finished zipping up.

“Are you decent?” She asked.

“I… y-y-yes. Yes. I am-” Simon turned around again only to freeze for the third time since they’d entered this lower chamber. He’d completely forgotten how tight the Vault suits were, and judging by the look on Rhiannon’s face… so did she.

“I… well… uhh…” The General stammered.

“Food?” Simon blurted out, looking over to a few packages of Pre-War food he’d brought with him and set out on the table.

“Yes, please.” Rhiannon smiled, thankful for the change in topic.

Simon walked over and grabbed a fork he’d placed with the food. A relatively small collection of food remained unspoiled by the river, a few tins of Cram, two boxes of Dandy Boy Apples, one box of Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, and a couple carrots. Several sealed cans of purified water and bottles of Nuka Cola also stood amongst the makeshift buffet. Simon and Rhiannon each took a tin of Cram, box of apples, carrot, and a can of water.

“You can have the Fancy Lads.” Simon offered.

“How do you know I don’t like my men rugged?” Rhiannon teased, smirking at the way Simon turned red, “Seriously though, I’ll share.”

“Very… uhh… v-very generous of you.” Simon stammered as he sat down on the floor, putting his back to the wall. Rhiannon sat down beside him, cracking open her can of water.

“To surviving.”

“To surviving.” Simon repeated, tapping his can to her’s before opening it as well.

“Ugh…” Rhiannon blanched as she opened her tin, “I always hated Cram.”

“Well, it’s all I’ve got right now.” The mechanic shrugged, “Just think, if we didn’t jump in the river we’d be dining on Radroach.”

“Eww,” The General made a disgusted face, “Radroach I can barely stomach… but at least it’s not Bloatfly. Ugh, I can’t even _think_ about it. I’ll eat it if I have to, but I have to try and pretend it’s _anything_ else.”

“What’s your favourite wasteland food you’ve had?” Simon asked.

Rhiannon thought for a moment, “I liked that Radstag stew you made for the New Year’s Day potluck. But Sturges makes a really good steak.”

“Back out west, I used to love Bighorner steak.” Simon sighed, “And Ruby- I used to work for her husband- made this casserole with Radscorpion venom… it was to _die_ for. Literally. Like, you couldn’t eat it if you had a mouth sore or cut or something, because the venom would kill you dead.”

“And you still ate it?”

“I wish I got the recipe from her, but she she’d always say,” Simon rolled his eyes and broke into an impression of the voice of an old woman, “‘This is a family recipe, Simon! I can’t just give it away all willy-nilly!’”

Rhiannon couldn’t help but giggle, “Do you miss it out west?”

“Sometimes…” Simon admitted, “But I can’t go back.”

Sensing the sudden shift in tone, Rhiannon decided not to press him for clarification. “So… what are your favourite foods here in the Commonwealth?”

“Radstag.” Simon answered immediately, “Anything with Radstag. It’s a damn shame we didn’t have such a tasty animal in New Vegas.”

Rhiannon fell into a memory… the last time she was in Las Vegas, it was right before her wedding. Vincent and some friends from his platoon were celebrating for his bachelor party. The next thing she knew, she was getting a phone call that Vincent had been arrested and requested her to defend him and his friends in court. She did, and they got off scot free, of course, but she never let him live it down.

“Rhiannon?” Simon waved a hand in front of her face.

“Hmm? Yes? What?” She blinked.

“I asked if you packed a sleeping bag or a bedroll.”

Rhiannon’s face began to heat up, turning a noticeable shade of red, “I… I didn’t… I forgot.”

Simon also slowly flushed, “There’s… only one sleeping bag, then. We’ll have to share.”

There was an awkward silence as the two stared at each other for a few moments.

“It’s fine, it’s no big deal.” Rhiannon scoffed, trying to eradicate the tension, “It’s for survival, we gotta stay warm.”

“Mmhmm, yup, that’s exactly right, we’ve gotta keep warm.” Simon agreed quickly, nodding his head, “Definitely nothing weird about that.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Right.”

The attempts to make it less awkward only made it more awkward. After more silence and staring, Simon spoke up.

“I… I am tired though, after all that swimming… with the pack on my back.”

“O-o-oh. Oh. Okay.” Rhiannon stammered, “I… we could go to bed now, if you like.”

“Is that okay?”

“It’s fine! It’s fine.”

After setting aside the dishes and garbage of their meal, Simon put the sleeping bag on the floor. Zipping it open, Rhiannon crawled inside, Simon scooching in beside her and zipping it back up.

“Goodnight Simon.” Rhiannon sighed, trying not to think about how good it was to not sleep alone.

“Goodnight Rhiannon.” Simon stammered, trying not to think about how Rhiannon’s breasts were pressed against his back.

* * *

“Woof!”

A sudden bark startled Preston, and he shot to attention. The map on his desk, now stained a conspicuous pool of drool, had been the focus of his attention… until he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Turning to the source of the noise, he saw Dogmeat, anxiously wagging his tail.

“Well hey there, Dogmeat.” Preston smiled, “Does this mean Rhiannon and Simon are back?”

Dogmeat whined and jumped up, putting his paws on Preston’s legs.

“What? What is it? Is something wrong?” Preston raised an eyebrow as he stroked the dog’s neck.

The German Shepherd jumped down and grabbed something off the floor, holding it out to Preston.

“Oh, do you want to play? It's a little late for that, isn't it-” He froze as Dogmeat deposited the item onto his lap, “Is… is this Simon’s hat?”

“Woof!” Dogmeat barked.

Preston shot out of his chair and rushed to the nearest Minuteman post, Dogment trailing behind. “Minutemen! To arms! The General is in danger!”

* * *

**January 9th, 2288.**

Without windows, it was impossible for Simon to tell what time it was when he woke up. Judging by the light snoring behind him, he was the first to awaken. Rhiannon’s arms were wrapped around him, something that must’ve happened in the middle of the night. When he attempted to shift to get a look at his Pip-Boy, Rhiannon nuzzled in closer.

With an involuntary sharp inhale through his nostrils, Simon couldn’t help but smell something sweet… obviously it had to be Rhiannon. There were no words he could think of to describe it. Must have been some lingering Pre-War perfume of some sort. Right?

 _“Stop thinking about this!”_ Simon’s mind screamed, and the mechanic tried to think of literally anything else. However, the more he tried to avoid thinking about the situation he found himself in, the more he thought about it.

“Simon?”

Hearing his name, Simon snapped out of his thoughts, “Y-yeah?”

“I don’t feel well.” Rhiannon’s voice sounded tired, and a touch hoarse.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The mechanic tried to shift around in the sleeping bag to lie on his back, so he could get a better look at Rhiannon’s face.

“I feel nauseous… and I have a headache… and I’m… just so tired.”

Oh. Oh shit. The river. Maybe he was just used to rads by now, but Rhiannon hadn’t had to deal with being submerged in irradiated water for about an hour until yesterday. Maybe it was the cold that surrounded them that kept him from realizing it sooner, but with her other symptoms verbalized, Simon realized how warm she was. Too warm. Feverishly warm, in fact.

“Do you think it’s food poisoning?” Rhiannon asked, “I feel like I’m…”

“Okay, time to get you up!” Simon hurriedly zipped open the sleeping bag and slid out, searching frantically through his belongings until he found a metal bucket at the bottom of his bag. Dumping out the contents stored within on the counter, he returned just in time to get Rhiannon to her knees so she could be sick into the bucket.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Simon attempted to soothe the ill woman, rubbing her back, “Vault 81 is nearby, we’ll go there and there’s a doctor that’ll help you. Just wait there for a second, I’ll make sure the coast is clear.”

Simon leaned Rhiannon against the nearby wall and rushed to the door. However, when he opened it, all he saw was a wall of white, a solid mass of snow piled up.

“Fuck.”

* * *

“Bark! Bark!”

While the snowstorm had slowed, and at one point completely halted their efforts, the Minutemen were back on the trail of their lost General and the mechanic the accompanied her. Pointed in the right direction by the robots of Greygarden, the search party were briefly set upon by Raiders while crossing an old railway bridge.

“Dogmeat, have you found them?”

The German Shepherd took a brief turn off the bridge to sniff around the river’s shore, then bolted in the direction of Oberland Station. The Minutemen had to jog through the knee-high snow to keep up with Dogmeat. Upon reaching the station, they saw that the night’s storm had created a massive snowdrift that buried an entire side of the snow. The open room on top of the tower was similarly covered in snow.

“Woof! Bark! Woof!”

Dogmeat rushed for the buried side and started digging.

“I think he’s onto something!” Preston shouted to the others, “Come on, Minutemen, help him dig!”

The five Minutemen and the dog began to dig and tunnel through the drift. Most of them had to use their bare hands, as only two of their number had the foresight to pack shovels. As they dug, they could hear faint noise and conversation from inside the structure.

“Preston?”

“Rhiannon, you’ve got to… …don’t worry… …handle this.”

The General’s voice was faint, but it was definitely her! The party continued to dig furiously. Dogmeat managed to break through first, digging a tunnel through to the other side.

“Whoa! Dogmeat!” Simon exclaimed as the dog burst through the white wall and started jumping around the room, furiously wagging his tail.

“Simon! Are you okay? Is Rhiannon okay?” Preston called through the hole.

“I’m alright, but Rhiannon’s rad-sick, maybe something brought on by the cold too.” Simon looked out to the rest of the search party, “I need one of you to go to Vault 81 and tell them-”

“We’re gonna get you out of there, hold on!” Preston interrupted.

“Listen!” Simon insisted, “One of you has to go to Vault 81! Hit the intercom button and tell them that Simon Lopez is on his way, and his friend is very sick with radiation poisoning. Tell them I’ll pay in caps or labor if they’ll help. Hurry!”

Preston turned to one of the Minutemen, “Go on, do what he said! Double time!”

“Yes sir!”

As one of the Minutemen ran off to Vault 81, and as the others dug furiously to widen the hole that Dogmeat had made, Simon held onto Rhiannon, stroking her hair.

“We’re gonna be okay. We’ll be okay. Just hold on.”

 


	9. The Hand That Feeds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caldwell meets with a new raider gang, and invites them to Nuka World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Nine Inch Nails.

* * *

**CHAPTER NINE**

**THE HAND THAT FEEDS**

* * *

**January 8th, 2288.**

“So you’re telling me you don’t know jack shit?” Gage leaned forward in his seat. The light bulb dangling precariously above the table shed light upon his face and upon the face of his guest, but little else. Across from him, Mr. Brownstone sat, his hands cuffed together.

“Gage… man… come on…” The junkie scoffed, “You think I pay attention to the fuckin’ politics of Nuka World?”

“Look, our guys saw her leave your place and the next thing we know we’re hearing rumors… you understand that’s suspicious as fuck, right?” Gage deadpanned.

“Ain’t my concern what someone does when they’re high, just that I get ‘em there.” Brownstone rolled his eyes. Gage let out an annoyed sigh and uncuffed the prisoner.

“If you’re gonna be a pain in the ass, I’m getting a fuckin’ beer.” Gage grumbled as he rose from the table.

“Oooh, the good cop, bad cop routine?” Brownstone mocked him with a cheshire smile.

“Not exactly.” Gage said ominously as he closed the door behind him.

Moments later the room was bathed in blinding light. A hand grabbed the back of the dealer’s head and slammed him hard into the metal table. As Mr. Brownstone clutched his head in pain, Caldwell stepped around from behind to take Gage’s abandoned chair.

“Never start with the head! The victim gets all fuzzy and can’t feel the next-”

Caldwell responded by slamming a dagger through Brownstone’s free hand, pinning it to the table.

“... _See_?!” Brownstone responded after a few moments, his bloodshot eyes betraying his high. He probably wouldn’t’ve known there was a blade in his hand if he didn’t see it.

“I gave you a chance to come clean peacefully. Now it’s gonna be messy.” Caldwell said, pulling his knife out of the table and his victim’s hand, “Now. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll start talking.”

“Gotta be more specific, lest I start on gibberish…” Brownstone’s crazed grin returned briefly, “Alright, alright, I know what you’re here about, and you’ve got it wrong, brother.”

“You’ll have to enlighten me.” Caldwell drawled, “Because the way I’m hearing it, Jenny’s been busy collecting strays to take a ‘big score.’”

“Oh yeah, she is, in a manner of speaking.” Mr. Brownstone responded, “Hey… can I trouble you for a ‘lil Jet? A Mentat?”

“Keep talking and maybe I’ll even give you a Stimpack for your hand.” Caldwell responded evenly, “What do you know about Jenny’s coup?”

“A… a what?” Brownstone gawked. The junkie burst out laughing, slamming his uninjured fist into the table as he cackled. “You… you think she’s tryin’ to grab your seat?! No, no, no… she’s… well, ‘lil Scar-scar had an identity crisis…”

“What did you call her?” Caldwell raised an eyebrow.

“Her name’s Scarlett. What, she didn’t tell you while you fucked her?” Brownstone’s grin flashed wicked, “Look, brother, I ain’t give a shit you fucked my niece, but you really got into her head with it.”

“I know.” Caldwell responded, “The same happened to Mags.”

“You get around.” Brownstone smirked, “Point is, Scarlett _really_ wants Kiddie Kingdom. So she came to me for a therapy session.”

After a moment of silence, the grin fell from the junkie’s face.

“I don’t fuck family, figuratively or literally. I don’t encourage that shit either.”

“So what is she doing?” Caldwell asked, leaning back into his chair.

“She’s trying to reinvent herself. She’s burning down the Friends of Red Jenny and raising something new in its place. She’s cutting out the competition by cutting them in.” Brownstone elaborated with a serious tone, “She knows she’s too weak, and her gang is too weak. She wants to be strong. She needs to evolve. I only helped her realize it.”

Caldwell nodded, satisfied with the answer. Reaching into his coat, he pulled forth a Stimpack and a Jet inhaler.

“Congratulations, you win a prize for honesty.”

“Fuckin’ word, brother.” Brownstone reached for the items, but Caldwell’s hand clamped onto his wrist.

“However… if this is all a ruse… and if Scarlett turns on me… I’m going to burn you as well.” Caldwell released the junkie and turned to leave as he jabbed the stimpack into the back of his hand.

“That turned out well.” Caldwell said to Gage as he passed by his second-in-command, leaning against the doorframe.

“You think he’s telling the truth.” Gage stated as a pair of Caldwell’s agents stepped into the room behind them to escort the chem cook back to his lair.

“Brownstone’s an interesting creature. Plays a clown because it’s what keeps him alive. He’s loyal though, or at least smart enough to know that there’s no play he could make that’ll end well for him if he turns on me.” Caldwell responded as they ascended the stairwell towards the surface.

“So, Red Jenny’s changing her theme to impress you enough to get Kiddie Kingdom…” Gage mused as they walked out into the cold sun, “Funny how-”

“Boss! Gage!”

The two turned their attention to the voice that called them, a raider running towards them from the direction of the front gate.

“You were with Scouting Party Delta. What’s your report? Where are the others?” Gage asked.

The man responded by holding a sackcloth bag out. Gage opened it and the pair looked inside. As they did a small cluster of flies and a horrible stench emerged as they beheld the heads of some of their agents.

“What the fuck happened?!” Gage demanded.

“She… they ambushed us!” The raider stammered, “We thought that she’d be easy prey, she was on her own… but they came out of nowhere! There were so many of them, and Super Mutants too! And they… they ate them in front of me! But why’d they let me go?! Why did that bitch let me live?!”

“Oh for fuck’s sakes…” Gage sighed as the raider sobbed, “He’s fuckin’ cracked. No good to us anymore.”

“Maybe. But I think that’s Sic’s head in there… he scored too well with perception to have been caught off guard by just _anyone_.” Caldwell responded, “It seems we may have yet another group to bring into our fold…”

* * *

To any passerby, the series of shrieks and shrill whistles that filled the air would have been blood curdling. To the ones producing the sounds, they were downright jubilant. The once abandoned warehouse had rows of tables running its length, and around them sat dozens of raiders, screaming their triumph in their latest hunt to the rafters.

At one end of the large room sat an oversized chair, draped with leathers and with a handful of skulls framing the back. On this chair, casually lounging with a leg kicked up over one armrest, blood drying around her mouth, was the raider queen known as The Banshee. Her hair, chin length and windswept, was shock white, her pale face narrow and nearly gaunt, scarred across her lip and chin, and from her hairline over her left eye down the sharp curve of her cheek. All of this, paired with her dark eyes, surrounded by as much black warpaint as she could find, it was no wonder she was named for a spectral omen of death.

At her right elbow stood a towering Super Mutant, a faded tattoo of a skull and crossbones across the wide expanse of his chest, and a permanent scowl on his lips, even as he appraised the room before him and accepted a chipped plate piled with fresh-cooked meats from one of the raiders.

The slight human in a gasmask and dark clothes handed a similar plate to the woman on her gruesome throne, and then made their way back among their fellows. There were at least sixty humans passing food back and forth across the tables, and three other Super Mutants among them. A fourth skulked at the far side of the room near the door; smaller than the others by far, his eyes darted almost frantically as he paced the length of the wall.

With her meal now in her hands, the Banshee sat up properly in her seat and inhaled deeply before tearing into her share of what was left of the farmer family they’d struck down that morning. But she’d barely taken more than a few bites before the door swung open, and two of her raiders entered, dragging a shaking man between them. The screams died immediately and all eyes in the room focused on the outsider brought before them, each raider stilling almost unnaturally.

The Banshee’s ever present smirk faltered. She set her plate on the arm of her chair and rose to her feet. The strips of dark fabric that wrapped around her body, held to her slender frame with darker leather, dragged against the floor as she made her way across the room. When she reached the messenger, she took his chin in her hand. Her eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t you throw this out with the trash?” Her voice was low, and barely carried inflection.

“He came crawling back,” the raider on the left, holding a pistol to the man’s head, answered. “Witch spotted him and we got the jump on him. Says he has a message for you.”

“A message?” The Banshee’s smile returned, and spread, revealing the canines that had been carefully filed into points. Her sharp nails dug into the trembling man’s cheeks as she forced him to meet her gaze. “What message?”

The shaking man brought forth a piece of paper, which The Banshee took between her middle and forefinger. Turning on her heel, she made her way back to her seat and unfolded it eagerly. Her Super Mutant shadow glanced sideways towards the note, though he couldn’t read it if he tried. She snapped her fingers, almost idly, and the raiders and mutants in the room relaxed, resuming their meals and low conversations, as the Banshee read the note.

* * *

_“Banshee”_

 

_I was quite surprised to find one of my more promising scouting parties utterly dismantled and dismembered, a sole survivor reduced to a cowardly wreck, one barely able to speak the name of who destroyed him. While the loss of a valuable party angers me, I am more impressed that it was able to be done at all._

_My name is Caldwell, and I am the Overboss of a coalition of raiders based out of Nuka World, a Pre-War amusement park of sorts. We have been gathering strength and forces to invade and conquer the Commonwealth area. While introducing a brand new gang will undoubtedly destabilize the equilibrium I’ve attempted to maintain these past several months, I believe that bringing your gang into the fold will have great benefits in the long run, benefits that will overshadow the assorted problems that will undoubtedly arise._

_I urge you to take your gang and come to Nuka World. There we shall discuss a mutually beneficial agreement that will lead to our combined arms overtaking those who oppose us. However, you shall be too dangerous an enemy, so rejection of my kind offer will lead to your inevitable destruction._

_I await a response._

 

_-Caldwell_

* * *

The Banshee’s pitch dark eyes narrowed as she reread the message several times. “Interesting.”

With a shrill whistle, the Banshee had the attention of the room again. “Someone get Witch from his post. Tell him I have a job for him.”

One of the younger raiders got to her feet and left the warehouse immediately. Satisfied, the Banshee turned her attention back to Caldwell’s messenger. Her voice carried across the hall, “Bring the trash here.”

The pair of raiders shoved the messenger forward until he was before the woman’s seat, and she fixed him with a cold glare.

“Your boss must think I’m an idiot. I don’t appreciate that.”

“I… b-b-but… he… you…” The raider stammered and sobbed.

“Stop crying.” The Banshee rolled her eyes. “You will show my scout back to this Nuka-World, where he can deliver my response to-” she glanced down at the note- “Caldwell. And if you make a single sound before he arrives, I will carve my reply into your skin. Do you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am!” The messenger said in a shaky voice.

“That seemed like a sound to me,” One of the raiders holding him sneered.

“I would agree.” The Banshee reached into her boot and withdrew a switchblade. “Hold him still.”

* * *

_Caldwell -_

 

_If that scouting party was one of your best, I shudder to think how pitiful your average is. They were easy prey, and made for quite the feast._

_This aside, I am not pleased with the assumption that I am foolish enough to take each and every one of my people to your base of operations, a base of which you know each secret and surely have the advantage in negotiations, particularly if they are to go south. I would advise reconsidering this offer and instead meeting me halfway. I will bring seven of my best raiders, and you will do the same. We will find a middleground and we will discuss how you can benefit me._

_But, if you are too afraid to face me outside your little fortress, then your threats fall empty and on apathetic ears. Do send me a different messenger with your reply, or merely allow Witch to return with your answer. This one squirms too much._

 

_~ The Banshee_

* * *

“That’s a little… extreme, isn’t it?” Mags asked, glancing between Caldwell and the message carved on the shaking wreck of a man before them.

“The artistry is sublime.” Nisha sighed, “Whoever this… Banshee is, they sure know how to use a knife.”

“Jealous, Nisha?” Mason scoffed.

“Shut the fuck up.” Caldwell looked over his shoulder briefly, re-reading the message a second time, “Hmm. They’re smarter than I thought. What a miracle.”

“What’s the plan, boss?” Gage asked.

“Firstly,” Caldwell drew his magnum and fired into the back of the messenger’s head, “This jumbled mess of excrement is useless. Find replacements for Delta. Secondly, where’s my pen?”

“Boss… you can’t be fucking serious.” Mags blanched.

“S.P. Delta was equipped with recon scopes, and Sic was a goddamn mutant with night vision, and these people still got the drop on them. Imagine what a few of them could do in the right place at the right time. Entire settlements could fold in an instant.” Caldwell strode over to his desk, “So yes, I am fucking serious.”

“‘These people’ are not deaf.” The shadowy figure that had been lurking in the doorway this entire time finally spoke up. The man was tall, slim, with dark hair that framed his tanned features and pale eyes that had been flickering between Caldwell and his circle the entire exchange.

“Are you offended by praise?” William scoffed.

“No. If anything, it’s higher praise that you speak as if I am forgotten.” The man, Witch, stepped into the room and folded his arms across his chest. Over his beat up leathers, he wore a necklace that dangled with the skulls of crows, and their dark feathers formed a collar around his shoulders.

“Take this letter back to your leader.” Caldwell stepped away from his desk, “There’s a place outside the borders of the park. A flat expanse of land with no major landmarks. That will suffice as a meeting place.”

“Yes, that will do.” Witch took the letter with a nod. His eyes lingered on Caldwell’s face, darting back and forth as though committing the features to memory. Finally, he nodded again, and stepped away, his shoes making no sound on the floor. “We will see one another soon.”

After he was escorted out, Gage coughed into his fist.

“So. Who are you taking with you?”

“No one of utmost importance, but important enough to make a show of things.” Caldwell murmured. “You’re my successor in the event of my death, Gage. Goliath will come with me. Nisha, I shall borrow Savoy from you. Any other companions I will have to personally interview… Mason, Mags, make sure you send _competent_ individuals my way.”

“What about William?” Mags asked, already knowing what Caldwell’s response would be.

“William often leaves a bad impression, so I wouldn’t dare bring him. He’ll just get us all killed.”

“Hey!” William protested.

* * *

**January 10th, 2288.**

After two days, the time of the meeting had come. Caldwell stood at the meeting location, the high noon sun having melted away the snow. A sheet canvas tent was set up to block the sun from the table that Goliath hauled with him. The grey Super Mutant stood, arms folded, beside his master, a cigar in his mouth. The five raiders that accompanied them, one from each of the major gangs, watched all directions of the horizon warily.

“I don’t like this.” Savoy said, glancing to Caldwell briefly.

“Are you sure the snipers can shoot for shit?” A Rust Devil, dressed in the disassembled parts of assorted robots, asked.

“They’re Operators. Of fucking _course_ they can.” A sharp-dressed raider scoffed.

“Shut up. I think that’s them ahead.”

A small group of individuals had appeared to the west, including the unmistakable hulking figures of three super mutants, though one was about half the size of their fellows. Three human raiders walked behind, and Witch stood to the right of a small, thin, white-haired woman at the forefront.

Caldwell’s group stayed rooted, though every once in awhile they’d peek around their surroundings, nervous of an ambush. A few minutes passed in silence until the guests approached the meeting ground.

“Caldwell.” Witch stepped forward as the cluster of raiders and mutants halted a few paces from the gathering. “I have brought my leader, as requested.”

The white-haired woman stepped forward, the smaller Super Mutant and the larger, tattooed one at either elbow as she did. She smiled, softly, not yet showing any teeth, and inclined her head in greeting.

Caldwell also stepped forward, Goliath to one side and Savoy to the other. Behind his sunglasses, the Overboss carefully scanned the woman’s face until a smirk crossed his. Goliath stood across from the larger Super Mutant, glaring at the inked creature.

“So. You’re the Banshee.” Caldwell spoke first, “Take a seat.”

“You are Caldwell, the Overboss.” The Banshee stepped forward and sank into one of the chairs, immediately leaning to the side and kicking her heels onto one of the armrests. Her usually flat voice betrayed a hint of amusement. Witch moved with her, never leaving her side.

The tattooed Super Mutant looked over Goliath and scoffed quietly, but held his position in wait for his leader’s commands. Goliath inhaled deeply of his cigar and blew a plume of smoke into his counterpart’s face. At this, the other mutants stepped up to stand beside their fellow, and the smaller one bared a mouthful of jagged, broken teeth.

“Goliath.” Caldwell warned sternly as he found his chair.

“At ease, Jolly.” At the Banshee’s words, the Mutant with the skull and crossbones stood down, and moved back to stand with the human raiders that were watching, unnaturally still.

“To be honest and clear, I appreciate you responding favorably to this meeting… and more so that you insisted on neutral ground. It sets you as a cut above what I’m used to dealing with.” Caldwell spared an annoyed glance back at the unnamed grunts he’d brought with him.

“Perhaps you should choose those you surround yourself with more carefully.” The Banshee replied, her tone cool and almost polite.

“My rise to Overboss was a unique one, and I have been forced to adapt to my surroundings. Let’s say my predecessor was… ill suited for the job.” Caldwell smirked, “But that it not the purpose of the meet.”

“No. You asked me here so you could pitch to me your little club.” She smirked. “So, tell me, Overboss. What can you provide me that I cannot take for myself?”

Caldwell tossed a Pre-War park brochure onto the table for the Banshee to look through. She glanced at it, then back at Caldwell, expectant.

“Nuka World was at one point a large trading outpost. My predecessor, Colter, gathered three gangs… the Operators, the Disciples, and the Pack, and took over the heavily fortified encampment and took it for themselves. However, rather than continue to expand, Colter sat on his throne playing god. That’s where I came in. Over the past few months, I’ve taken four-fifths of the park, and we’re getting close to restoring main power.

“However, Nuka World was never the end goal… it was a first step. After taking Nuka World, and giving the gangs under my control a chance to grow and develop, we plan to invade the Commonwealth area. Thanks to intel provided by Rust Devil eyebots, we have a fairly intimate knowledge of the landscape and certain information regarding settlements and the political scheme. Additionally, I am in the midst of training agents to infiltrate larger settlements, such as Diamond City and Bunker Hill.

“The long and short of it… as I mentioned, your skills will be an undeniable asset to this plan. Of course you will all be well fed and given a place in a guarded encampment… territory of your own when it comes to the Commonwealth invasion… money, should you desire such a thing.”

The Banshee sat silent for a moment, mulling over Caldwell’s words. At last, she took the pamphlet from the table and began to flip through it idly.

“Caldwell. I have fifty-seven human raiders and five Super Mutants who follow me. And I have made them each a single promise.”

“We will not go hungry,” Witch said immediately. She nodded.

“Precisely. Can you guarantee each and every one of my people will be provided for?”

“Absolutely.” Caldwell leaned forward in his chair to loom over the table.

“And are we allowed to hunt? Surely you know that Super Mutants get... agitated, if they’re cooped up.”

“To maintain order, the gangs under my control are not to attack each other, nor the slaves under our thumbs. Apart from that… hunt who you wish. We may even point you in the right directions.” Caldwell smirked a little, thinking of the Gunners who seem to take post near the ruined highway.

Finally, the Banshee smiled, her filed teeth revealed. She handed Witch the pamphlet and looked to Caldwell. She swung her legs down and sat up straight in her seat. “And what do you expect from us in return?”

“First and foremost… loyalty to me.” Caldwell replied, “Failure to meet this condition will be fatal to you and your entire gang.”

“Ask Caesar’s Legion…” A member of the Pack muttered in the background.

“Additionally, I’m sure there’s something your gang will be able to teach my commandos, and you _will_ teach them. Of your spoils, there is a tithe that must be made to me… thirty five percent of all caps you bring in. Should your gang join, _you_ shall join my inner circle, an advisory council of sorts. These are the major conditions.”

The Banshee rested her elbows on the table, folding her fingers together and resting her chin on them as her smile dropped. “And how do you define loyalty, Caldwell? Because all I hear is service. I am a loyal friend, to be sure, but I do not bow.”

“Loyalty is defined as this.” Caldwell matched her cold tone, “Do not seek to subvert me. Do not seek to betray me. Do not conspire against me. I am Overboss, and my word is law in Nuka World, and all of our territories.”

“And if a day comes where I find you no longer benefit me, am I allowed to leave, provided I do not interfere with you and your plans?”

“If such a day were to come, and provided you do not interfere with my machinations, then you and your gang may leave unharmed.”

The Banshee and Witch exchanged a look, and he tucked the pamphlet into a pocket of his clothing. She nodded, and turned her gaze back to the Overboss.

“Take off your glasses. I want to see your eyes when I shake your hand.”

Caldwell stood, and pulled the glasses off of his face. Steel-blue eyes met the Banshee’s as he extended his hand across the table. She stood as well, and held his gaze as she gripped his hand in a surprisingly firm grip, her small frame betraying the strength she had.

An instant later, Caldwell’s free hand shot back to grab his dagger, plunging it into both of their hands. At the glint of a knife, Witch produced a pistol, aiming it at the Overboss’s head, until he realized there was no threat to his leader, and he lowered the weapon slowly. The area seemed to grow cold as the tension reached a fever pitch.

“The pact is sealed.” Caldwell grinned, noticing that the Banshee did not flinch beyond a raised eyebrow.

“When should we come home?” the Banshee asked with another sharp-toothed smile.

“As soon as you possibly can.” Caldwell pulled the dagger out of their hands and sheathed it.

“We’ll be there by dawn.” She wiped the blood on her clothes and turned her back on Caldwell, beginning to walk back to her gathered force.

“Goodbye, fair lady.”

All eyes turned to Goliath, whose rough, rumbling voice called to the Banshee.

“It- he speaks?!” One of Caldwell’s fellows asked, dumbfounded.

“When I wish it.” Goliath glared at the man.

“Hm. And he’s more charming than half the men I’ve met,” the Banshee remarked, smiling up at the grey mutant. “Thank you, sir. I look forward to knowing you better.”

Goliath bowed his head briefly.

“I will see you at home, then.” Caldwell cut in, absentmindedly wrapping his hand in a bandage, “By the time you arrive, a place will be carved out for you.”

“Good. The Harbingers look forward to this partnership.” The Banshee’s dark eyes found Caldwell’s cold gaze once more.

Caldwell returned the sunglasses to his face and clicked his tongue twice. The raiders under his banner stood to attention as Goliath lifted the table under his arm. Similarly, the Banshee gave a shrill whistle, and two raiders dropped from the shoulders of one of the mutants, where they’d been still and disguised as pieces of armor, a few others stepping out of their hiding places and rejoining her side.

Caldwell gave a tiny smile in response to the play. This would make things interesting indeed.

* * *

“I think he talks too much,” Witch said as he and his leader made their way through the warehouse. At this, the Banshee laughed.

“He certainly does. I never asked for a history lesson.” The Banshee leaned against the railing of the upper scaffolding and looked down at the raiders milling about, packing their belongings and assuring there would be no trace of their occupation left behind. “But under the quantity of his words there is quality. I think this is a partnership that will benefit us.”

“He wants to keep you on a leash,” Witch advised, leaning beside her and pulling a cigarette from one of his pockets. “That’s why he wants you so close to him.”

“I’m aware,” the Banshee replied coolly. She withdrew a lighter and offered the flame to her second. “But what he asks of us is no great sacrifice. Caps mean nothing, and he assures us we will have what we need. I am willing to be polite, but he will know he does not own me.”

Witch lit his cigarette on her lighter and took a few drags before he spoke again. “Just be careful, Moira.”

“Always.” Returning the lighter to her pocket, Moira, best known as the Banshee, whistled, the sound echoing in the warehouse. Immediately, all movement and sound ceased, even Witch tensing beside her. Once she had the room’s attention, she addressed the Harbingers.

“At dawn, as you know, we will be making Nuka World our new home. We will be living among several other gangs of raiders, and we will not harm them. We will play nice. We will make friends. They will fear us, and they will come to appreciate our presence, our skills. If we are good to them, they will be good to us. We will learn what makes these other gangs strong, and use it to make ourselves stronger. And we will teach them... _some_ of our secrets in return. So make them comfortable, but never forget that we are at the top of the food chain.”

Moira observed the raiders below, each face familiar, each one hand-chosen and brought into her fold by gaining her approval. Each one living and thriving because she willed it, and ready to die if she willed it. “One final thing. I know you are all loyal to me, and I do not take that lightly. This Caldwell is the man in command in Nuka World. You will show him the same respect I am granted, and do as he commands you, unless it conflicts with an order from myself. Should this happen, you display obedience and bring the command to me, and I will decide how you proceed. Now, finish getting your things and let’s head out.”

The Harbingers relaxed and went back to their tasks and conversations. Witch tapped his cigarette, letting the ash fall. “I will say, Banshee, there’s one thing this Caldwell might be able to help you with, personally.”

“Oh, really?”

“Making speeches.” Smirking, Witch patted her on the back and left her.

“Smartass.”

* * *

“Residents of Nuka World, may I have your attention please?”

In a burst of static, Raider Radio’s broadcast was suddenly replaced by the voice of the Overboss. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at the nearest radio or speaker.

“An agreement has been made with a raider gang known as The Harbingers. Effective immediately, they are one of us. All workers assigned to nonessential tasks are to report to the grounds in front of the Fizztop Grille. A place must be carved out for them by dawn.”

With another burst of static, the broadcast returned to Raider Radio.

“Aww man, what the fuck?! I was in the middle of- come on, Overboss, warn a guy next time! But hey, he did conquer like, almost all the park in a couple months… so… fine, I’ll let it slide this time, boss. Anyway, where was I… oh, right. So, there was Atlas, the meanest Raider to ever wander this world… and he fell for Hope, a beautiful raider from a rival gang that, didn't give two shits about him…”

RedEye’s complaining segued into a story with ease as Caldwell hung up the receiver and turned to his assembled inner circle.

“So… how do these… Harbingers fit in with the plan?” Scarlett asked, her leg bouncing anxiously.

“They’re too small in number to reliably hold a full section of the park. However, we’ll just give them first pick of Commonwealth territory to appease them.” Caldwell responded, striding over to the bar to grab a bottle of Quantum, “We’ll be situating them across the pond from the Disciples… Nisha, I’m sure you’ll find a kindred spirit in the Banshee. The rest of you… play nice, or so help me God-”

“You have nothing to worry about, Boss.” Mags responded cooly.

“You say this now.” Caldwell pointed at the Operator with a warning finger, “I’m going to oversee the construction of their new living quarters.”

As everyone moved to leave, the Overboss called out to them again as he reached the elevator.

“I fucking mean it! I’d better not hear a goddamn whisper about you motherfuckers stirring the pot. We’re too fucking close to going after the Commonwealth to suffer infighting now.”

* * *

**January 11th, 2288.**

_“What if there was a place with all the zip of Nuka-Cola? Wouldn't that be the cheer-cheer-cheeriest place in all the world!”_

The Banshee raised a brow as she and her raiders came to a halt just outside the gates of Nuka World, eyeing the stone walls and silently appraising the fortifications. She was still not entirely comfortable walking in; this would be the perfect chokepoint for Caldwell to exterminate them. Though, he’d have to be a damn good liar to get past her. She was still not confident that wasn’t the case. “Well... home, sweet home.”

_“Kiddie Kingdom's lots of fun for tots like you and me. And Safari Adventure's full of animals to see.”_

At either side of her, Jolly and the smaller mutant had shoved their fingers into their ears to try and block out the overly cheerful jingle that played on a constant loop, each wearing a scowl. Behind them, the other Harbingers exchanged uncertain expressions, but tried to appear mostly unaffected. The Super Mutants were less able to disguise their irritation, shifting and growling under their breaths to one another. Witch, just behind his leader, also wore a frown as he lit up a cigarette.

As they passed under the gate, Caldwell turned around to greet them, having been in conversation with a subordinate in a dark leather coat and fedora.

“Welcome Harbingers to Nuka World. Yes, we know the song is fuckin’ annoying as shit. No, we can’t turn it off. Yes, we tried. Several times.” The Overboss greeted them with open arms.

“Have you tried shooting out the speakers?” Witch suggested, only to earn himself a subtle, yet sharp, jab in the stomach from Moira’s elbow.

“That was the _first_ thing we tried. Whoever designed the park made the speakers bulletproof…” Caldwell grimaced, “I know he’s long dead, but I will _desecrate_ the corpse of John Caleb Bradberton when I find it.”

“Lovely. Perhaps we can move _away_ from said bulletproof speakers, then?” The Banshee asked, stepping up to the Overboss. “We’d like to put down our belongings.”

“This way.” Caldwell led the new guests through the park. “Behind me as you entered, this circular venue, is the market. Traders come in to spend their caps on assorted goods… but between you and I, no one cares what happens to them once they leave, as long as no one finds out.”

A low chuckle passed between most of the Harbingers at this, and the Banshee smiled. “Interesting. We’ll keep that in mind.”

“This-” Caldwell, pointed to his right, “Is the Cola Cars Arena. Those who survive the Gauntlet are given the chance to face the Overboss in gladiatorial combat. The winner becomes or remains the Overboss.”

“What is Gauntlet?” The large, tattooed mutant at Moira’s elbow spoke up in a low, rumbling voice, his eyes surprisingly keen as he examined the indicated area.

“The Gauntlet is a maze, a death trap, as designed by the Disciples. It starts at the monorail drop off you passed on the way in, and ends inside the arena. Turrets, mines, radiation barrels, beasts, poison gas… it’s a real shitshow for whoever has to run it.”

“Hmm. And yet, you beat it.” The Banshee almost sounded impressed.

“Indeed I did.” Caldwell smirked to himself, before pointing in the opposite direction of the arena, “Across there, past the market, in the… amphitheatre, I believe it was called, is where The Pack have holed up. They and their beasts are under the command of a man named Mason.”

The Banshee glanced over her shoulder, but Witch had already pulled out a small, battered notebook and had been hastily scribbling in it as they followed Caldwell through. Pleased, she returned her attention to their guide.

“And up ahead on our right,” The Overboss indicated a door with a pair of mannequins before it, banners above the entry, “Is The Parlor, where the Operators make their abode. Apparently they occasionally host open mic events. But their focus is on making caps, and they are led by Mags and William Black.”

“I _will_ be meeting all of these other leaders at some point, I assume,” Moira remarked casually, examining the banners as they passed by.

“Of course. I was hoping we could get the introductions over with after our little tour has completed and your people are settled.” Caldwell continued to walk at a slowish pace.

“Sounds perfect. Lead on, Caldwell.”

“You’ll be able to find a stiff drink in Cappy’s Cafe to your left. Also ahead, the Nuka Cade, where you can spend tokens to play Pre-War games and earn prizes. If you’re into that sort of thing.” The Overboss led them through the area before coming to a wide open space with a large pool of water, “And this is nearly it. Almost done.”

The Harbingers, usually good at appearing nearly statuesque, were nudging one another and whispering back and forth with something akin to excitement in most of their eyes as they listened to the options available to them. Moira now looked suitably impressed as well, and cast Caldwell her first approving glance.

“That restaurant in the mountain there,” Caldwell pointed straight ahead, “Is my abode. My office. On one side, as you can see by the blood, belongs to the Disciples. You’ll make fast friends with them, I can tell. But the other side… is all yours.”

The Banshee felt the end of Witch’s pencil prod her in the back, reminding her wordlessly of his comment about Caldwell’s leash. She nodded, both to him and to the Overboss. “Awfully close to the social summit, aren’t we? How flattering you want us so near.”

“Unfortunately, there was little unused space left in this section of the park. We had to divert our workforce to build you a settlement in the largest available area. It being so close to my doorstep is coincidental.” Caldwell responded cooly, “However, there is a Red Rocket Truck Stop outside our borders that we intend to secure, and when we do, you may take immediate and direct control of it.”

“Excellent. I know some of my people are less inclined to be walled in. We’ll be happy to have some... fresh air.”

“As you say.” Caldwell nodded, “The structures have been altered and built to accommodate your… larger companions. When you have settled in, feel free to meet me in my office. There’s an elevator lift just outside. I’ll hear it coming.”

“Soil,” Jolly remarked, looking towards the Banshee. She nodded and rested a hand upon his arm.

“Are there suitable places to grow food? Surely there must be to provide for so many residents, but we take our production of crops seriously. You remember the promise I mentioned, of course.”

“Incredible.” Caldwell muttered to himself, “There is a gate just there that leads towards other sections of the park. There is ground there that can be used, but I will order some slaves to bring fertilizer and build you proper planters inside the walls for you to use.”

“Perfect.” Satisfied, Moira nodded. “Shall we show ourselves in, then?”

“By all means.” Caldwell grinned, “Welcome home, Banshee.”

With a flick of two fingers, the Banshee let her followers walk ahead of her, and they headed in to their new home. She lingered behind for a moment, watching each of them before turning to Caldwell. “One last question, just between you and I.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow, “Go on.”

“What’s the chem situation like here?”

“Use is… liberal. Production is handled by a member of my circle you’ll be meeting, Alestair Brownstone.” Caldwell took his sunglasses off for a moment, “For those in my… special training program, chem usage is banned. Certain individuals are also blacklisted and ineligible to purchase chems due to… unpleasantness.”

“Good. How do you enforce this list?”

“Brownstone and his ilk are given the names and faces of those not allowed to purchase chems. If those individuals are found under the influence or in possession of chems, there is an investigation to find how they obtained them. Punishment is doled out accordingly.”

The Banshee was quiet for a moment, looking in the direction her second had taken the Harbingers, rather than at the man she was speaking to. “Add Witch to the list.”

“Of course.” Caldwell responded, a hint of understanding in his eyes.

“I’ll see you shortly, Caldwell.” Moira moved to follow her people now, adjusting the pack she’d carried with her.

Caldwell returned the sunglasses to his face and walked towards the elevator. Upon reaching his abode, he found Gage waiting for him.

“What do you think?” The Overboss asked his second in command.

“Certainly unusual…” Gage sighed, “But hey, if she’s some kind of Mutant whisperer…”

“And they want to grow their own crops!” Caldwell shook his head in disbelief, “Mags nearly threw a fit when I suggested the same!”

“Should I assemble the others?” Gage asked.

“Not yet- wait, bring me Brownstone. The list has a new name. And get some workers to the Harbinger grounds with fertilizer and wood planks to build planters. Then come back here. When she comes, then we’ll get the rest.”

“Whatever you say boss.” Gage rolled his eye, heading off to do Caldwell’s bidding.

* * *

“It’s nice, I have to admit.” One of the Harbingers said to Moira as she finally entered their new headquarters.

“It could be worse, definitely,” she replied, shrugging off her bag and setting it on a shelf near the door. “Fortified, well-stocked, and there’s recreation options.”

“Beats squatting in a warehouse, that’s for sure,” another raider laughed. Moira ignored the remark, opening her pack and pulling out some of the clothing within.

“Shall we give the rest of Nuka World a wake up call?” Witch asked, poking his head in from where he’d stepped outside onto a patio. The Banshee smiled, sharpened teeth glinting in the morning light.

“Go for it,” she answered, and Witch quickly turned back to the park and let out a scream.

Immediately, the Harbingers crowded to the shattered windows, shrieking, screaming, whistling, some stomping their feet as they called out into the early morning. Moira observed for a moment before she gently pushed her way out into the dawn. Sucking in a lungful of air, she let out a long, piercing scream of her own, a verbal claim to her new dwelling place. With the walls and the mountainside, their cacophony echoed over the park.

This would do. This would do nicely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And from here onward, we're adding Swan as a co-author! Having someone to bounce ideas and dialogue off of has really improved my ability to stay on task, and my writing in general... in fact, Chapter 9 was finished before Chapter 8 thanks to her influence! Hopefully this means less wait times between chapters and more compelling characters.


	10. Wicked Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Caldwell experience shakeups in the romance department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank Swan's influence for the rating change... 
> 
> {I'm here to give the people what they want. ~ Swan}
> 
> Chapter TW: Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Chris Isaak.

* * *

**CHAPTER TEN**

**WICKED GAME**

* * *

**January 11th, 2288.**

_“Uranium fever has done and got me down… Uranium fever is spreadin' all around…”_

When Rhiannon finally awoke, it was to bright light and music. She blinked and squinted, holding a hand over her face to block out the light that blinded her. Slowly, but surely, she became aware of the details of her surroundings.

_“With a Geiger counter in my hand, I'm a-goin' out to stake me some government land…”_

The first thing she noticed was how soft the surface she lay on was, only to realize moments later that it was a bed… a _real_ bed. As her eyes struggled to adjust to the light, she could hear the faint beeping of a heart monitor. Turning her head, Rhiannon saw a figure in a folded chair next to her; Preston Garvey, his hat tilted downwards over his face, exhaustion having taken him during his dutiful watch over his General.

_“Uranium fever has done and got me down!”_

“Ah, you’re awake.”

A male voice from across the room spoke, but without her glasses Rhiannon couldn’t make out the speaker’s features. Only when he approached her bedside with a clipboard did she determine the old dark-skinned man with silver hair was a doctor.

“Where am I?” Rhiannon asked weakly.

“You’re in Vault 81’s medical clinic.” The doctor replied, “You’ve been asleep for close to forty-eight hours.”

Rhiannon suddenly felt lightheaded at the news… two days?

“It was quite a scene. There hasn’t been this much excitement in the Vault in a long time.” Dr. Forsythe flicked off the radio and sat down in a nearby folded chair, “You’ve had all kinds of visitors. This fellow here has stayed by your side the entire time.”

Rhiannon glanced over at Preston who had begun to stir.

“Our mutual friend Mr. Lopez said he’d work off the expenses of your time here, and he’s spent every waking moment not working here in the clinic. Now that you’re awake, maybe you can convince him to get some rest… between you and I, I don’t think he’s slept more than a few hours in the time he’s been here.”

“Simon said I had radiation poisoning.” Rhiannon reached for Preston’s hand. The Minuteman gently grasped it.

“And he was right.” Dr. Forsythe stood up and briefly looked at his clipboard, “We’ve run a few packs of Rad-Away through your system, and after a little more bed rest and some food, you should be good to go. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to get back to.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Preston nodded.

As Dr. Forsythe returned to his duties, Rhiannon let out a tired sigh, “Where’s Dogmeat? And the Minutemen?”

“Aside from Simon, Dogmeat, and I, no one was allowed in the Vault. I think I only got in because Simon insisted, and Dogmeat got in because one of the kids spotted him and pleaded with the Overseer.” Preston responded, “They’re camping outside the Vault.”

Suddenly, the door to the clinic opened.

“Hey! He can’t-”

In a moment, Rhiannon’s vision was filled by a very excited German Shepherd. Being a good boy, Dogmeat restrained himself from jumping into the hospital bed with Rhiannon, settling for putting his paws on the side and covering her face with kisses.

“Dogmeat! Hey boy!” Rhiannon smiled, patting the dog.

“Sorry Dr. Forsythe, I didn’t even see him!”

Simon’s voice sounded tired as he slowly walked in, taking the seat that was briefly occupied by the doctor.

“Because you’re so overtired that you can barely walk straight!” Dr. Forsythe chastised, “You need to rest, Mr. Lopez!”

“Yeah, yeah, as soon as I’m sure my friend’s okay.” Simon waved him off, “How are you doing Rhianna?”

“ _Rhiannon_.” The General rolled her eyes, “Doc says I’ll be fine.”

“She mostly needs rest right now, and so do you.” Dr. Forsythe repeated sternly.

“I’d better take the Minutemen back to Sanctuary. Hopefully the place hasn’t burnt down without me.” Preston coughed, rising to his feet, “But it’s a relief that you’re alright Gen- Rhiannon.”

“Thank you for staying Preston.” Rhiannon responded, smiling weakly, “I’ll try to not let you down again.”

“You’ve never let me down, Rhiannon.” Preston said, “We all fall down, but what matters is how many times you get back up. I’ll see you soon.”

With that, Preston headed out of the clinic. Rhiannon turned over to Simon, who clearly struggled to stay awake.

“Simon, please. Get some sleep.” Rhiannon squeezed one of his hands.

“Okay, but don’t go anywhere.” Simon smirked, then turned to the dog, “Hey Dogmeat? You want to have a nap?”

“Bark!”

* * *

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Caldwell’s baritone stretched across the meeting table, “A new face graces our presence. Amongst us stands the Banshee, leader of The Harbingers, the newest gang to enter our fold.”

The Banshee stood with her arms folded, looking around coolly at the other members of the inner circle. She nodded to them all as their gazes shifted to her, and then turned her dark eyes back to Caldwell. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”

“Banshee, you’ve already met Goliath,” Caldwell gestured to the grey giant behind him, then to a man in metal armor, “And Savoy there was present in our first meeting.”

“Good to see you again, fair lady.” Goliath grumbled. The table blinked in shock, at his speech, but said nothing.

The Banshee smiled and inclined her head to Goliath. At her side, the mutant known as Jolly gave a soft, low growl, but she ignored him. “And it is very good to see you again, as well.”

“We’ll go around the table.” Caldwell started, “Banshee, this is Gage. My second in command.”

“Nice to meet you.” Gage nodded to the white-haired woman, “I’ve heard a lot of whispers about you and your group. Good to have you with us.”

As Moira turned her gaze on the next member at the table, Witch, to her other side, gave Gage a smile of his own, accompanied with a quick wink.

“This is Mr. Alestair Brownstone,” Caldwell referred to a bald, scarred man with dirt, grime, and war paint all over his face.

“Welcome to the jungle, babe.” Brownstone’s smile was wide and crazed, “You need a fix, I’ve got it.”

“Really?” Witch spoke up, his eyes darting from Gage to the chem cook. Moira stomped on his foot as inconspicuously as she could.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. It sounded more like a threat than a pleasantry.

“Next we have Mags and William Black. They head The Operators.” Caldwell continued down the line, pointing next to a man in colorful garb, “And here is Mason, Alpha of The Pack.”

“Hmm. Don’t look like much to me.” Mason grumbled as eye eyed the Banshee up and down, “So you’ve got a Super Mutant. Doesn’t mean shit against my guys.”

“I have five,” the Banshee replied, locking eyes with Mason. She unfolded her arms and set her hands on the table, baring her filed teeth. “But I’m willing to test your ‘guys’ against _my_ people any time.”

“Simmer down, people…” Gage warned, “Remember what the boss said.”

Mason exhaled sharply through his nose, but said nothing further.

“Next we have Nisha, leader of the Disciples, and her subordinates Savoy and Dixie.” Caldwell introduced the next raider bosses.

“It is so good to meet you!” Dixie smiled brightly, “What’s your favorite thing to kill someone with?!”

“My teeth, if the opportunity presents itself.” Moira smiled back at Dixie, still showing off her canines. She recalled the Disciples as the ones Caldwell said she and her people would get along with best. “But a switchblade works just fine.”

“Teeth? That’s pretty hardcore. Hmm. I like your style.” Nisha nodded to the newcomer, “We’ll have to talk shop sometime.”

“That we shall. I look forward to it.”

“Ivey, who is not present, leads the Rust Devils. Ivey is currently in the Commonwealth, as her gang originated in the region.” Caldwell continued. “Next we have…”

“I’m Scarlett.” The raider formerly known as Red Jenny introduced herself.

“Scarlett. And what is it you do here?” Moira inquired, cutting her eyes to the woman.

“Caldwell.” Someone blurted out. A few snickers could be heard before Caldwell’s fist slammed upon the table to silence them.

“I see,” the Banshee replied, sounding greatly amused. Beside her, Witch was clearly stifling a laugh. “Good to know.”

“I head the Court of Murder as the Queen of Hearts, because I’m going to rip out the heart of whoever just fucking-”

“Scarlett, enough.” With a single glare from the Overboss, the raider queen fell silent. Moira’s grin widened at this. “And lastly, we have a reminder to everyone to remember the most important rule of Nuka World.”

“Have fun?” Someone asked sarcastically.

Caldwell ignored the comment and walked to the wall, where a sheet covered a large object. Pulling the sheet away revealed the crucified, decayed remains of a man wearing some kind of canine pelt over his head.

“ _Do not fuck with me!_ ” Caldwell shouted, causing nearly the entire collection of raiders to jump in shock or fear. The Banshee raised an eyebrow, ignoring the awful smell that reached them.

“An impressive display. Well, I do _so_ look forward to working with you all. Do you need anything more from me, _Boss_?” Moira asked once the tension in the room seemed to ebb. The last word, Caldwell’s title, had just a hint of mockery to it.

“That would be all for this meeting.” Caldwell responded, “Goliath, would you kindly return Vulpes to his rightful place?”

The grey Super Mutant nodded, putting out his cigar by shoving the lit end into his skin. The giant then lifted the makeshift crucifix and dragged it towards the lift. Raiders begun to slowly file out of the room. Moira straightened her coat and nodded towards the door.

“Head home, Jolly.” At her command, the mutant headed out, sparing one last glare at Goliath as he did. Witch, by the time Moira looked towards him, had vanished. She quickly glanced around to be sure he wasn’t cozying up to Brownstone, but she could see her second approaching Gage instead, a familiar enough smile on his lips. Rolling her eyes, she moved towards where Nisha and Caldwell stood together.

“Well, what a welcome,” the Banshee spoke up, interjecting herself between them before a conversation could begin without her.

“Indeed.” Caldwell responded with an even tone, “Are your people satisfied with their accommodations?”

“Most of them,” the Banshee answered breezily, her attention primarily on the masked woman beside the Overboss. “They’ll get used to it. Perhaps a few... friends might make the place more comfortable to them.”

“Indeed,” Nisha echoed the Overboss, “It's not everyday I like someone better alive than dead. I guess you're one of the lucky ones.”

Moira nodded to Nisha, folding her hands behind her back. “Caldwell may be right; you and I will find kindred spirits in one another, it seems.”

“I enjoyed the artistry of your message. We will have to study each other’s… techniques.” Nisha smiled, before giving a wistful sigh. “It’s a shame about Vulpes. If crucifixion was but one of his methods, it’s a pity I couldn’t learn more.”

“Yes. One of Caesar's Legion, I’m guessing?” The Banshee ventured, recalling the mention of such a gang at her first meeting with Caldwell.

“Yes, the leading figure of their remains… until he crossed our Overboss.” Nisha turned towards Caldwell.

“And the price of their treason was a slow and painful death.” Caldwell stared into the Banshee’s eyes as he spoke. She stared back, unintimidated.

“Well, I’ll make sure my Harbingers keep their noses clean.”

Overboss and Harbinger continued to stare at each other, an invisible battle to see who would blink first in the face of the abyss. However, this war was interrupted when a lanky figure slid into place beside the Banshee, slinging an arm around her shoulder.

“So… I hear you eat people.” Brownstone grinned, “How do they taste? What do you pair with them? Can I interest you in my fine selection of pick-me-ups?”

“I do. It depends on how you cook them and what they’ve been eating. Usually whatever’s lying around. No, you cannot.” Moira answered all of the man’s questions as she shoved his arm off of her shoulders and fixed him with an icy stare. “You’re Brownstone.”

“Yeeeah.” The man raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly to the side.

“I presume Caldwell has passed along my... request to you.”

“Yep. Your boy’s on the blacklist.” Brownstone smirked, “What kind of bender did he have to go on for you to blackball him as soon as-”

“It nearly killed him,” the Banshee deadpanned, bristling a little at the idea of discussing their past with these strangers.

“Yeah, that happens.” The chem cook shrugged, “I mean, not to me.”

“Well, lucky you. But Witch better not have a single drop, pill, huff, or hit of any kind or so help me, we will see what pairs best with-”

“Message received.” Caldwell interrupted, grabbing Brownstone by the scruff of the neck. “Right, Alistair?”

“Yes, sir.” The dealer responded in a meek tone.

“Good boy. Run along now.”

Brownstone scurried away as quickly as he could. Nisha gave Moira a nod before heading out herself. The raiders that had remained to mingle were finally taking their leave, with only Caldwell, Moira, and their seconds remaining.

“Well. This has been fun, but I should go,” the Banshee said, once more crossing her arms. “When Witch is done flirting with your one-eyed pet, send him home.”

“Hmm.” The Overboss hummed, “Why don’t you come check back with me in tomorrow, tell me what your people need… what _you_ need.”

Something in his tone made Moira squint at him, taking a half-step away. For the first time, her challengingly casual stance became tense. “Right... I’ll do that.”

Caldwell walked off towards his second, slapping Gage on the back of the head before exchanging a few words. Witch, who had been smiling and chatting easily with Gage until this point, fell still and quiet as Caldwell approached. He hesitated a moment, before slinking back to Moira’s side, visibly disappointed by the interruption.

The Banshee continued to observe the Overboss, her tension leaving as he did, replaced by the same indignation she’d first felt at his initial invitation. So, he thought he could play her that way? That she would be as easy to control as the woman who called herself Scarlett? He would have an entirely different beast on his hands with her, and Moira wondered if he was prepared for that. She sincerely hoped he wasn’t.

* * *

**January 12th, 2288.**

“But I feel just fine,” Rhiannon protested, again.

“One more day of bedrest, and we’ll feel confident enough to let you go,” Doctor Forsythe insisted, again. “We don’t want you collapsing out there in the wilderness. We’ll assure both you and Mr. Lopez are rested, hydrated, and fed, and in proper condition to leave.”

The general sighed, leaning back into her pillows. There were less comfortable places for her to be stuck, that was for certain. But they were so close to Diamond City that the thought of sitting around while her son was out there somewhere was growing increasingly unbearable. And Rhiannon had never been good at sitting around with nothing to do; she and Vincent had argued about it frequently during her pregnancy.

“Fine. Fine.”

As the doctor returned to his duties, Rhiannon gave an another annoyed sigh. Turning her head to the right, she spotted the radio. Reaching out, she managed to turn it on. Maybe some music would help take her mind off of things…

_“Worry, worry, worry-”_

…Nope. With another click the radio turned off, and Rhiannon let out a frustrated huff. Glancing around her immediate surroundings, she spotted a few magazines on the table near the radio. Grabbing hold of the pile, she gave a cursory look over the covers… issues #5 and #10 of Live & Love (“Beware The Man Handler” and “An Experience To Remember” respectively), and issue #12 of Astoundingly Awesome Tales (“Have Dog, Will Travel!”).

With a shrug she started on issue #5 of Live & Love, which featured a short story about a seductive bounty hunter who used her charms to lure her bounties into traps. Rhiannon couldn’t help but chuckle as she read… the woman in this short story was who she wanted to be when she was a teenager.

“Hey.”

Rhiannon lowered her magazine as Simon sat down in the folded chair beside her bed. The mechanic was back in his brown flannel shirt and jeans, his newsboy cap returned to his head.

“Hey, you,” She smiled, “What have you been up to? Have you-”

“ _Yes_ , I got some sleep.” Simon rolled his eyes, “And I’ve been a little busy. Between making some repairs for the people here, I got all our clothes washed and replaced what we lost from our little detour in the river.”

“That’s good.” Rhiannon ran a hand through her hair, “Speaking of things we lost, have you seen my glasses? I haven’t seen them since the night at Oberland Station.”

“Yeah… about that…” Simon scratched the back of his neck, “Uhh… someone… _may_ have… stepped on them.”

“ _What_?!” Rhiannon bolted upright.

“It’s okay! I booked you an appointment with Dr. Forsythe for after dinner to get an eye exam.” Simon raised his hands in defense, “Don’t worry, I fixed the phoropter myself, and I’ll be right there with you.”

Rhiannon slowly sank back down into the bed. An eye exam? After the end of the world? It felt so... normal. So convenient. She almost expected Simon to say ‘tough luck, Rhonda; we’ll scavenge you a new pair and hope it works for you.’ Could they even make prescription lenses in here? What all did this Vault come equipped with, and why the hell hadn’t her family been assigned to this one? Not that they would have made it in time, what with the rather sudden nature of the bombings. With a start, she realized Simon was still talking.

“…But I love the sun, and there’s no fresh air down here…” Simon paused, seeming to catch a whiff of himself, “Jesus, I need a shower… I’ll have to get one after fixing the-”

“They have showers here?!” Rhiannon gasped excitedly.

“Yeah. It’s kind of a communal room though, so… a little awkward sometimes… but hey, a shower’s a rarity out in the wasteland.” Simon explained as he stood up, “I gotta get back to work. I’ll stop by at suppertime, okay?”

“Okay then.” Rhiannon nodded, excited at the idea of taking a shower. Funny how something so simple before the war was a luxury now. She and Simon shared a smile before the mechanic retreated from the room.

An actual shower. Rhiannon hoped the water would be hot, and that she could convince Doctor Forsythe to let her take one before they left. The fact that she missed a damn _shower_ so much seemed ridiculous to her, but on second thought, it was an easy way to reclaim a feeling of humanity, of normalcy.

“Oh, shit, I forgot!” Simon burst back into the room, holding a yellow cartridge, “I brought you something to ease off the boredom.”

Simon handed over the holotape. The blue label showed pictures of alien spacecraft attacking the Earth.

“Zeta Invaders?” Rhiannon read the title aloud.

“Hey, it’ll kill time.” Simon shrugged. “See you later!”

With that, Simon once again fled the room. Curious, Rhiannon popped the holotape into her Pip-Boy and booted it up. Maybe she’d play a few rounds before going back to her magazine…

* * *

“Do you want me to accompany you, then?” Witch asked, frowning at the Banshee. She’d been pacing the bedroom that had been set up for her, separate from the bunks her gang would reside in.

“No, I want him to think he’s getting what he wants,” Moira replied, hands folded behind her back as she continued her back and forth across the room. “I’m just debating what my play should be.”

“This is exactly why sex and politics should be kept separate,” Witch replied, folding his legs and getting more comfortable on the mattress. “Seriously, Moira, maybe you should take someone along. One of the mutants, at least.”

“No, I can handle this.”

“I’m not saying that you can’t handle it. I’m saying you shouldn’t have to. It’s fucked up.”

“It’s a power play. We need to get used to those.” Moira finally stopped pacing, squinting out the dirty window by the bed. “You were right about him wanting me on a leash.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t consider that might be literal!”

Moira slowly turned to look at her second. “... What?”

“You never know what kind of weird shit these boss types are into. I don’t know! I’m just worried for you.”

“Christ. You don’t need to be worried for me. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. What you need to be worried about is what strategy I need to take, _besides_ going in there with a group of Harbingers.”

“Do what you do best.”

“I’m not killing him.”

“Not that.”

“Ah.”

A momentary pause.

“Playing everything cool worked for you so far.”

“Everything _is_ cool, Witch.” Moira rolled her eyes. “I’m not intimidated by him, and the fact that he’s already trying to gain an emotional advantage means he _is_ intimidated by me.”

“That’s true,” Witch conceded. “Like I said, he wants to control you.”

“Mason is his dog, and Scarlett is his whore. He’s not going to cast me in either role.”

“Good.” Witch grinned, a wicked edge to it as he caught the low snarl in his leader’s usually even, controlled voice.

“We’re right where we want to be for now,” the Banshee said, her tone flatlining again. “Once we get a better sense of where the other pieces are on the board, then I’ll start making bolder moves. For now, I just need to hold my ground.”

“What’s the goal?”

“The goal is to make sure everyone here realizes we only work for ourselves. Caldwell benefits us, and we’ve made a deal, but he’s not our king. He’s our business partner.”

“So don’t let him forget that.”

“Believe me, I won’t.”

* * *

After badgering Dr. Forsythe for what felt like hours, Rhiannon was finally permitted to leave her bed and go to the showers. She felt like a kid on Christmas morning. The residents of Vault 81 seem to pay no attention to her as she walked under rows of fluorescent lights. Following the signs, anticipation could only build as she approached the shower room.

It was welcomingly familiar, in a strange way; the showers oddly reminiscent of the one she’d had at home. But she hardly paid that much mind, eagerly stripping and stepping into the stall. Hot water hit her immediately, and it was divine. Rhiannon stood under the spray, eyes closed, savoring the warmth.

She could have remained like that for hours, but a pair of hands were on her waist suddenly. And yet, she didn’t panic. They were rough, and careful, and she immediately knew who they belonged to. Turning to face Simon, she gently took hold of his face and pressed her lips to his. He kissed her back hungrily, the hands on her hips pushing Rhiannon against the wall of the shower, his dark hair wet and sticking to her fingers.

“Simon…” Rhiannon hooked a leg around Simon’s waist, pulling him closer until she felt him enter her, and she let out a soft gasp. Simon took hold of the leg, holding it in place as he began to thrust into her slowly, roughly. His other hand ventured across her body, seeking out sensitive areas to trail over. Each time he found one, his touch would linger to tease her before moving on.

Rhiannon could feel heat pooling in her stomach, yet, despite the full, deep strokes of Simon’s hips, she could not reach her release, was not quite satisfied. She let out a soft whine, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the mechanic’s neck. “Simon, please...”

Wordlessly, Simon’s hands moved to her breasts and his lips to hers. Sharing a passionate kiss as his calloused fingers massaged her, Rhiannon could _almost_ feel the beginnings of pleasure building. She moved her hips in time with Simon’s, matching each of his thrusts until-

* * *

“Ow!” Rhiannon found herself on the floor beside the bed she’d fallen asleep in, tangled in the sheets.

“What the-” Dr. Forsythe gasped as he returned with a mug of coffee, “What happened?”

Rhiannon flushed as the reality of her situation came crashing down on her. “I... uh... I fell asleep. Must have rolled off the bed.”

“Hmm.” The doctor frowned, “Maybe we should keep you in longer-”

“No! No, really I’m fine.” Rhiannon climbed to her feet, untangling herself from the bedsheets and trying very, very hard to forget what she had been dreaming about. Fresh air and sunlight suddenly sounded amazing. “I’ll be good to go on schedule.”

The doctor’s eyes scanned over her, seeking any indication of unwellness, “Mr. Lopez suggested you may be interested in taking a shower.”

Rhiannon’s face flooded with heat, and she couldn’t help the bright red blush that crept up into her cheeks. The vivid images, the all too real feelings of her dream replaying in her mind. “W-what?”

“Mr. Lopez mentioned that you wanted to make use of our showers.” Dr. Forsythe repeated, “If you can walk there- supervised- and without incident, I will gladly release you after your scheduled eye appointment.”

“Oh. Yes, that’d be great.” Rhiannon silently cursed herself for sounding so obviously flustered, and cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

“Excuse me, Rachel?” Dr. Forsythe turned to an Asian woman in an identical labcoat, “Could you escort our patient to the showers? Let me know if she has any trouble or difficulties.”

“Of course.” The woman nodded to her co-worker, walking into Rhiannon’s field of vision, “Right this way.”

Rhiannon nodded mutely and followed after the other doctor, still silently trying to scrub her subconscious treachery out of her mind. She didn’t even _like_ Simon like that! He was just a friend, and even that was a tenuous assessment of their relationship. Maybe there were more rads in her system than she wanted to admit. Yeah, that had to be it.

“Here we are.” Rachel said as they approached the showers, “And I’m happy to say you had no issues. I’ll pass this along to Dr. Forsythe and we’ll get started on your paperwork.”

“Paperwork? What kind of paperwork?”

“Nothing to worry about,” The doctor replied, “Just a confirmation of the procedures, how long you stayed, what the bill would be… of course, Simon’s taking care of the bill, but we still need a tangible number.”

“Right.” Mention of the mechanic made Rhiannon’s stomach flip and her chest tighten. This was ridiculous, she reminded herself; totally and utterly _ridiculous_.

Rachel pat her on the shoulder and headed back the way they came. Hopefully Rhiannon would remember the way back, given she’d been so lost in her thoughts on the way there. Again: _ridiculous_.

Entering the room, Rhiannon was just in time to hear one of the showers in the stalls shut off. Not even a minute later, a wet Simon stepped out in nothing but a towel.

“Aah!” Simon jumped backwards, nearly falling into the shower curtain behind him. “R-Rhiannon! Hey!”

“You got my name right,” Rhiannon laughed, nervously. She was desperately averting her gaze by staring at a spot on the wall. She forced herself not to look at the way the water was trailing down his chest and abdomen and beneath the line of his towel- no, she was definitely staring at that.

“You… you, uh… getting a shower?” Simon made a horribly awkward attempt at conversation as he shuffled towards a locker containing his clothes.

“What, no! I mean- yes. Yeah, a shower.”

“Great. Bet it’ll feel nice… to be all clean.”

“U-uh huh. Been some time.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool, cool. No doubt, no doubt.” Simon opened the locker, one hand firmly grasping the towel, “I’m just gonna… sneak back in there and… change.”

“Yeah... and I’m going to... undress... out here.”

“Cool… cool, cool, cool, okay… nice. I mean- I… I’m going now, let me know when you’re in the shower, okay, going now!” Simon grabbed his clothes and rushed back to the shower he’d emerged from, the towel falling just before he made it behind the curtain.

Rhiannon was- thankfully- able to snap her gaze away in time, but her face had once more turned a shade of crimson. She was a married woman! _Was_ , the awful little voice in the back of her head reminded her. Rhiannon shoved all her thoughts aside as she removed her clothes, tucking them into the same locker Simon had used.

She hurried back into the stall and shut the curtain with a snap. “Okay! I’m in!”

“Alright!” Simon’s voice carried over from the next stall. Rhiannon heard his curtain open, and the sound of his footfalls as he fled the scene.

 _“Ridiculous.”_ Rhiannon thought to herself yet again.

* * *

_“I sometimes see you pass outside my door… Hello! Is it me you're looking for?”_

The soft, seductive sound of Pre-War music greeted Moira as the lift brought her to Fizztop Grille. The entire room was lit by candlelight as the Overboss stood behind the bar pouring out two glasses of wine.

 _“Witch was right. I hate when Witch is right,_ ” the Banshee thought, fighting a visible cringe as she stepped into the office and very deeply wished she had at least one super mutant with her.

“Am I intruding on something?” She asked aloud, holding a large stack of papers in her hands. “I was under the impression we were meeting to discuss my complaints at this time.”

“Yes, of course,” Caldwell responded with a snake-oil smile, “Please, have a glass of wine and we’ll discuss.”

“I prefer to do business sober.” Moira glanced around for a seat, and headed over to the couches, settling on the armrest of one. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Your loss.” Caldwell shrugged as he downed each glass. Walking over to the sitting area, the Overboss took a seat on the opposite couch, “Tell me then. What’s on your mind? How are your Harbingers settling in?”

“Well, I’ve compiled a list of grievances we’ve experienced so far. I do trust you’ll take each one into account and do your best to remedy them?”

“To the best of my ability.” Caldwell nodded, “So. Let’s begin.”

“Excellent.” Moira lifted the top paper off her stack and pulled a candle closer so she could begin reading.

“Firstly, there’s a bad leak in the bathrooms. The ceiling doesn’t quite seem finished. Secondly, our windows are shattered. The fresh air is pleasant, but we could use new panes. We can install them, but the glass would be nice. Third, the soil you provided set off Ellison’s geiger counter. Now, everything’s irradiated, but we’re concerned about growing our food in this quality of dirt. You can understand.

“Fourth, Ghost said her feet hurt after we arrived. You may need to repave the thoroughfares. Fifth, Redgate complained of a stomach ache, and I just want to be sure that our water is being properly purified...”

Caldwell’s head fell back against the back of the couch, staring up towards the god that mocked him as the Banshee read on.

* * *

“Okay, now… number one… or number two? Number one… number two.”

“They look the same to me.” Rhiannon huffed.

“But you have to pick one.” Dr. Forsythe sighed.

“Okay, fine. Number one.” Rhiannon was starting to grow impatient.

“...Are you saying that because it’s the clearer picture, or because you want to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I think we’re good, doc.” Simon spoke up. After the press of a button, the eyepieces of the phoropter returned to their dock.

“Alright, now we’ve just one last thing to do.” Dr. Forsythe turned the projector on, revealing an assortment of letters.

“This again?!” Rhiannon complained, “Seriously?”

“Just read as far as you can.” Simon rolled his eyes.

With another annoyed sigh, Rhiannon began to list off the letters.

“E, K, B, H, J, P, X, L, Z, Q, U, M, B, D, N, R, S, W, V, F, A, Y, T, O, Q, J, V, I, C, K, U, P, A, Y, T, E, D, Z, F, U, C, K, Y, O, U…”

“Those last seven aren’t on the chart,” Dr. Forsythe deadpanned.

“They should be,” Rhiannon muttered, then paused. “That’s farther than I got last time...”

“That means this motherfucker works!” Simon jumped and punched the air, “Suck my dick, Vault-Tec!”

“What Simon means,” Dr. Forsythe pinched the bridge of his nose, “Is that this was a prototype designed by Vault Tec with… programmable parameters. Some of which were less than savoury. However, Simon managed to program it to improve the eyesight of the patient. Congratulations, you now have 20/20 vision.”

“Wait... so that thing... fixed my eyes?” Rhiannon looked between Simon and Dr. Forsythe. “That- I didn’t even feel anything.”

“And if I had the blueprints from the Vault-Tec headquarters, I could make more of these bitches!” Simon continued his celebrations, “Woooo!”

Rhiannon sighed; after starting her shower with cold water, she’d been able to get a hold of herself again. “So, we’re free to go now, right?”

“You’ve got a clean bill of health, and Simon’s already signed the necessary paperwork.” The doctor nodded, “You two can head out anytime.”

“Thank you, Dr. Forsythe.” Rhiannon stood up, grabbing Simon’s bicep, “Come on. We’re going.”

“Robert House, who? Robert House can eat my asshole!”

“Robert House founded RobCo, not Vault-Tec.” Rhiannon sighed as she dragged the excited man out of the clinic.

* * *

“- Three hundred and fifty six is that some of our members have expressed moral concerns about the fact that we’re keeping slaves. Not sure what your PR on that is. And finally, Morris said he had to pee. We took care of that one, but that’s how we found out the bathroom was leaking.” Moira set the last sheet of paper on the stack that had accumulated on the couch beside her.

“Just… leave those with me. I’ll see what I can do.” Caldwell groaned. The playlist he had chosen to serve as mood music ended half an hour ago, and his patience expired fifteen minutes before that.

“Wonderful. This meeting has been very productive. That’s all I have, so I’ll be taking my leave. Thank you for seeing me, Caldwell.” Moira hopped to her feet.

“Wait a minute!” Caldwell let his frustration get the better of him as he shot upright. Catching himself, he continued, “In all those complaints you listed, your own concerns, needs, or desires were not among them.”

“My concern is for my Harbingers. I need them to be taken care of, and I desire to see their complaints taken seriously by our Overboss.”

Underneath his sunglasses, Caldwell’s eye twitched ever so slightly, “So you have no interest in-”

The Banshee quirked her head to the side, raising an eyebrow.

 _“Fuck.”_ Caldwell thought to himself. He’d let his frustration better him, and now she had the upper hand.

“To be blunt, I was under the impression that you were coming to offer yourself to me as part of a power play to secure a brighter future for your Harbingers, as… certain others have done.”

There was a pause in which the Banshee stared at the Overboss, expressionless, before she burst out laughing. “Of course not! I don’t need to fuck my way into your good graces. Jesus. No. This is a _business_ arrangement, Caldwell. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Hmm.” Caldwell raised his head slightly, “You intrigue me, Banshee.”

“Because I’m a competent human being?” Her tone remained amused, teeth still bared in a smile.

“One last question.” Caldwell walked to stand chest to chest with her, “Tell me… what’s your name.”

“Does ‘The Banshee’ not suffice, _Boss_?” That taunting edge was back, but this time she did not hold it back.

“Not for every occasion, as I’m sure we’ll find out.” Caldwell’s face broke into a hint of a smirk, though it was unclear whether it was due to his comment or his reaction to Moira’s tone.

“Enlighten me.”

“Well… you’ll have to wait and see, now won’t you?”

With a roll of her eyes, the Banshee headed for the lift. “Give my list a thorough read, won’t you?”

“I most certainly will.” Caldwell took his sunglasses off for a moment as he sauntered behind her. She did her best to ignore his presence as she hit the call button, her back still deliberately facing him.

“I’ll tell you mine.”

At this, her head tilted. “You first.”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

Caldwell’s face remained like stone. The lift arrived, and, after another beat of silence, the Banshee stepped onto it and hit the button for the ground floor.

“James Caldwell Jr.”

“Moira Kincaid.” The platform sank, and she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And boom goes the dynamite! I've hinted at it a few times, but here's explicit confirmation... Caldwell's the Lone Wanderer! Also, Simon asking Dogmeat if he wants to have a nap is based on experience with my mother's dog. Napping is our thing.
> 
> The song playing when Moira enters the Fizztop Grille is "Hello" by Lionel Richie.


	11. Word Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Simon are interviewed by Piper and the Banshee meets with some of her fellow Raider Bosses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, the working title of this chapter was "An Exchanging of Words" because there is SO MUCH FUCKING DIALOGUE.
> 
> Chapter TW: Graphic Violence
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Foo Fighters.

* * *

**CHAPTER ELEVEN**

**WORD FORWARD**

* * *

**January 12th, 2288.**

“Fuck you, Witch.”

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

Moira slammed the bedroom door behind her. “He had wine. The entire room was lit by _candles_.”

“Oh, _shit_.”

“But I handled it.”

“Did you?”

“Don’t be gross.” Moira sank down on the edge of her bed beside her second.

“So you won this round?”

“I like to think so. At the very least, he learned not to make assumptions about me. And, apparently, I _‘intrigue’_ him.”

Witch grinned at that. “So the almighty is human after all, and you have his curiosity. What are you going to do now?”

“Keep him guessing.”

* * *

“I think it went well.”

“Really.”

“Yes, _really_.” Caldwell glared over at Gage as he scanned through the papers left behind by the Banshee. Each individual complaint was sorted into one of two piles: legit or bullshit.

“It sounds to me like she got under your skin.” Gage put his hands on the back of the couch and leaned forward.

“She did, aye, but _I_ got under _her_ skin too. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Sure boss…” Gage rolled his eye, “Sure you did.”

“Shut the _fuck_ up and help me sort through these.” Caldwell growled as he held the complaint regarding the pavement of the thoroughfare over a candle, “At least now I know more about who it is I’m dealing with.”

“And who are you dealing with?” Gage asked as he took a seat across from the Overboss.

“Moira Kincaid.” Caldwell grinned, his face illuminated from beneath by the burning paper.

* * *

Rhiannon stretched as she, Simon, and Dogmeat emerged from the cave leading to Vault 81. The sun was setting, leaving little time before nightfall. Though according to the mechanic they’d likely make it to Diamond City on time if they took the right paths through the winding streets of Boston.

“I used to live not far from here, in a place called Hangman’s Alley…” Simon rambled on, pointing in a vague direction, “Then some raiders showed up and I had to leave. Barely got out alive. So… if we go through there I could get some payback, you could get a potential settlement, and we could get to Diamond City quicker, so… win-win-win?”

Rhiannon considered for a moment, but finally shrugged. “How many raiders?”

Simon paused, searching through his memories, “Four… no wait- five? Definitely not six.”

Rhiannon ran through the scenario in her head, and then pat the gun at her hip. “I think we can handle that.”

“Well, alright. Right this way.” Simon pointed towards the Charles River, starting to jog in the indicated direction, “Come on!”

“Bark!” Dogmeat ran off after Simon. Rhiannon shook her head lightly and began to follow behind.

* * *

After tearing through the raiders of Hangman’s Alley, the trio continued on to Diamond City. Rhiannon grew anxious as they approached the fabled ‘great green jewel’ of the Commonwealth, and was surprised to find it was based out of Vinny’s favourite stadium. He’d taken her to Fenway Park a few times, but she was never all that into watching the Boston Red Socks get beat. Neither was Vincent, but he always clung onto hope that they’d finally win the World Series.

Looking up at the fortifications along the walls, it was a grim reminder that those days were long behind her, and would never come again. Rhiannon wrapped her arms around herself absent-mindedly, but was torn from her memories by her companion’s voice.

“Hey, the gate’s closed… what the fuck?” Simon looked between Rhiannon and the aforementioned gate, where a woman in a red trench coat and a cap similar to his shouting angrily at a speaker box.

“What do you mean you can’t open the gate?! Stop playing around, Danny! I’m standing out here in the open for crying out loud!” The woman in red shouted at an intercom, glancing over her shoulder briefly as if Super Mutants or raiders would strike at any second.

“I got orders not to let you in Miss Piper… I’m sorry. I’m just doing my job.” The intercom spoke back, a male voice that seemed genuinely apologetic.

“Oooh, ‘just doing your job?’ Protecting Diamond City means keeping me out? ‘Oh, look! It’s the _scary_ reporter!’ Boo!” The woman gestured wildly, not that her conversation partner could see. Rhiannon and Simon exchanged apprehensive looks as their approach slowed.

“I’m sorry, but Mayor McDonough’s really steamed, Piper… said that article you wrote was all lies. The whole city’s in a tizzy.”

The woman let out an exasperated shout, “Argh! You open this gate _right now_ Danny Sullivan! I! Live! Here! You can’t just… lock me out!”

The lady in red, apparently named Piper, let out a defeated sigh. Sensing the presence of guests, she turned around, whispering over to the newcomers.

“Psst. Hey. You want to get into Diamond City, right?”

“Y-yes?” Rhiannon admitted, still shooting frantic glances at Simon, like he had some kind of grasp on the situation she lacked.

“Shhh…” Piper whispered, “Play along.”

Turning her head slightly towards the intercom, Piper spoke up so the person on the other end could hear, “What’s that? You say you’re traders from Quincy?”

“Yeees indeed ma’am,” Simon spoke up in a southern drawl, “I reckon we’ve got ourselves a fine se-lection of salvage and what-cha-ma-call-its that we found on our southbound travels. Provided we aren’t beset by raiders or them big green uglies, we could keep a general store stocked for a month.”

Rhiannon stared blankly at Simon for a moment, hardly recognizing his accent. After a beat, she opened her mouth to help, but the mechanic silenced her with a look.

“You hear that, Danny?” Piper called back to the speaker on the wall, “Are you gonna open the gate and let us all in, or are you gonna be the one to tell crazy Myrna about losing out on all this supply?”

“Geez, _alright_. No need to make it personal. Give me a minute…”

“Better head inside before they catch on to the bluff.” Piper jerked a thumb over her shoulder at the rising gate.

“Ladies first.” Simon offered, returning to his normal voice.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Piper smirked as she headed inwards.

Rhiannon caught Simon’s elbow as he moved to follow after her. “Where the hell did you pick that accent up from?”

“Brahmin baron.” The mechanic shrugged, “I learned a _lot_ of things in New Vegas, and on my eastward journey.”

“Are you going to elaborate?”

“I believe there’s a Pre-War saying… ‘What happens in Vegas _stays_ in Vegas.’” Simon winked and walked towards the gate. Dogmeat barked happily and trotted along at his heels. Rhiannon threw up her hands and followed after him.

“Piper! Who let you back inside?! I told Sullivan to keep that gate shut!” A large man in a brown suit jacket with a green vest shouted at Piper, “You… _devious_ , rabble-rousing _slanderer_ ! The level of _dishonesty_ in that paper of yours! I’ll have that printer scrapped for parts!”

“Oooh, is that a _statement_ Mr. McDonough? ‘Tyrant mayor shuts down the press!’” Piper snapped back, before turning to the pair of new arrivals, “Why don’t we ask the newcomers? Do you support the news? Because the mayor is threatening to throw free speech in the dumpster!”

“I’ve always believed in freedom of the press.”

“Fuck yeah, free speech!”

Rhiannon and Simon shared a glance. They’d answered the same question with the same spirit… but with radically different wording.

“Oh, I… uhh… didn’t mean to bring you fine people into this argument.” McDonogh stammered, “No, no, no… you two look like Diamond City material! Welcome to the great green jewel of the Commonwealth! Safe… happy… a fine place for a lovely couple such as yourself to spend some money, settle down, raise a family-”

“Oh, no, we are _not_ a couple!” Rhiannon protested immediately.

“And this hasn’t been the best welcome either.” Simon glared at McDonogh, “We roll in and you’re locking a citizen out because she said something you didn’t like?”

“He’s got you there…” Piper smirked, “Looks like not everyone’s won over by that shark smile of yours.”

McDonogh stammered and harrumphed at Piper’s comment, but attempted to redirect the conversation back to Diamond City, “Was there something you came to our fine city for?”

Simon looked to Rhiannon now, deferring to her. The woman sighed, looking down at the ground for a moment.

“I’m trying to find someone.”

“Find someone? Who?” McDonogh asked.

“My son… he was taken. He’s barely a year old.”

“Wait… your son is missing?” Piper asked softly, her confrontational and snarky attitude replaced momentarily be shock and worry.

“You hear that, McDonogh? What’s Diamond City Security going to do to help this woman, huh? This isn’t the first missing person report to come through here, and now there’s an _infant_ on the line!”

“D-don’t listen to her!” McDonogh attempted to brush Piper’s comments off, “While our security team can’t follow _every_ case that comes through, I’m confident that you’ll find some help-”

“Why the fuck _can’t_ they?” Simon asked sharply, “Her fuckin’ baby boy is _missing_ and you don’t know of _one fucking person_ that can help?”

“Simon,” Rhiannon said softly, touching his arm. Dogmeat, sensing the tension, had begun to snarl at the mayor, his ears flat. “We’ll ask around.”

“This is ridiculous!” Piper added, “Diamond City Security can’t spare _one_ officer to help? I want the _truth_ McDonogh! What’s the _real_ reason Diamond City Security doesn’t investigate kidnappings?”

“I’ve had _enough_ of this Piper!” McDonogh finally snapped back, “From now on, consider you and that little sister of yours on notice!”

“Yeah, keep talking McDonogh,” Piper called as the mayor stormed away, “That’s all you’re good for!”

“Fuck that guy.” Simon spat once the mayor was out of earshot, “What a piece of shit.”

“You, uh... had much experience with him?” Rhiannon asked, a little taken aback by Simon’s vitriol.

“Not in person like this, but I’ve heard things from friends, reliable trustworthy friends.” Simon responded, a deep frown on his face, “As my old friend Mercury would say, he’s a real motherfucker of a gentleman.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Piper spoke up, approaching the group, “Look, I’ve gotta get settled in, but… ummm… why don’t you two stop by my office later? I’ve got an idea for an article you’d be perfect for.”

“An article?” Rhiannon’s brow furrowed. “About me?”

“Well… I’ll explain more later, but, I kind of want to get an outsider’s perspective on Diamond City.” Piper responded, “Do you two have a place to stay, or are you going to the Dugout Inn?”

“Probably the Dugout.” Simon shrugged. Rhiannon nodded along mutely.

“Well, alright. Drop by tomorrow, okay?” Piper pat Rhiannon on the bicep, “I think I know someone that can help you locate your missing son. If you can help me out with this article, I’ll come along and direct you to them.”

“That sounds fair enough,” Rhiannon agreed after a moment’s contemplation. “What time tomorrow?”

“Anytime. I’ll be around.” Piper smiled and headed up the stairs. As the reporter left, Simon put a hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder.

“Hey… you alright?”

“I...” Rhiannon wanted to say yes, to assure the mechanic. But after a moment of struggling to find the right words, she sighed. “Maybe? I’m just... thinking about all the time I spent in Sanctuary. Time I could have spent looking for Shaun.”

Simon knew better than to try to respond… he’d probably make it worse. “Come on. We’ll get rooms at the Dugout and you can get some sleep. Gotta be rested for when we start looking for your boy.”

The group followed the path Piper had taken up a set of concrete stairs. At their apex they stood and beheld Diamond City. With the sun having set, the marketplace was mostly empty as Rhiannon and Simon walked, with Simon only having the vaguest recollection of where the Dugout Inn was. However they found it (after only one wrong turn) and entered the establishment.

“Welcome, dear friends!” An Eastern European accented man greeted them from behind the bar, “Come in, come in!”

“Vadim…” A similarly accented man sighed. The bartender ignored his twin and beckoned the pair and their dog to approach.

“You, I recognize!” Vadim pointed to Simon, “But your friend’s face is new! Come, have a drink on the house! I am Vadim, and this is my twin brother Yefim! Who might you be?”

“I’m Rhiannon-”

“Bark!”

“-and this is Dogmeat.”

“Good to meet you!” Vadim reached over the bar to shake her hand, “I will get you a shot of Bobrov’s Best moonshine! If you wish to stay, my brother can get you two a room.”

“Two rooms,” Simon and Rhiannon corrected in unison.

“Oh, and here I thought you’d finally found yourself a nice girl!” Vadim laughed, “One shot for you as well, Simon, to drown your sorrows!”

“...Thanks Vadim.” Simon rolled his eyes. A moment later, two shot glasses filled with the bartender’s signature drink hit the counter before the pair.

“Enjoy!”

Simon visibly grimaced as he held the shot glass up. “Well… are we supposed to toast to something?”

“To proving everyone wrong and not killing each other?” Rhiannon suggested playfully.

“Yeah, fair enough.” Simon shrugged.

The two clinked their drinks together and downed their shots, slamming the empty glasses on the bar counter.

“Jesus!” Simon coughed and gagged, “Fuck! Goddamn!”

“Wow!” Rhiannon blinked a few times as she set her glass down. “That’s... potent.”

Vadim laughed, “Is our own personal recipe!”

“Vadim…” Yefim sighed before turning his attention back to the guests, “We have two rooms available, rooms two and three. Ten caps each, and they’re yours for twenty four hours.”

“Yeah…” Simon rasped out, reaching for his coinpurse, “Just… give me a minute…”

“Simon, is that you, buddy?”

Another voice, belonging to a member of Diamond City Security in reflective sunglasses drew Rhiannon and Simon’s attention back towards the entrance.

“Hey!” Simon coughed, pounding his chest twice, “Sorry De- fuckin’ hell! Vadim, your moonshine’s killing me!”

Vadim laughed the comment off as the guard sat beside Simon, “How’ve you been? Haven’t heard from you in awhile.”

“Yeah. Well, you know how it is…” Simon finally seemed to recover, and passed twenty caps to Rhiannon, “Hey, I’m gonna stay up for a bit and chat with an old friend. You get some sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Rhiannon passed the caps off to Yefim, who exchanged them for a pair of keys and pointed her down the hall. After leaving Simon with his, Rhiannon headed into room two with Dogmeat and shut the door behind her.

For a moment, the woman savored the silence, the solitude. God, what a day it had been. She reached up to remove her glasses, only to remember they were no longer there. No longer needed. Another part of the life she knew replaced by whatever future she was in now.

After so long out of the Vault, Rhiannon thought she was adjusting, no, _had adjusted_ to her circumstances, but somehow... somehow today brought it all back. The dream she’d had, coupled with the fact she was sleeping in an actual inn made from the dugout of the baseball stadium she and her husband had spent so many afternoons in, and now on the precipice of picking up the trail for her son...

Rhiannon reached into her bag, pulling out a holotape before she sat down on the edge of the bed, and took a shaky breath. Dogmeat had been sitting at the foot of the mattress expectantly, and now quirked his head to the side as he watched her insert the tape into her Pip-Boy.

There was the sound of feedback, then a few shuffles and the sounds of a baby cooing.

 _“Oops, haha. Keep those little fingers away...”_ Vincent’s voice came through the device on her wrist. Dogmeat’s ears perked forward, his head swiveling to the other side. _“Ah, there we go. Just say it, right there, right there, go ahead. Ah, yay! Hi honey, listen...”_

Rhiannon reached for the dial; she’d never been able to get past this part. But she paused. No, she had to hear this. It had been long enough.

 _“I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a mother you are. But, we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving-”_ on the recording, Shaun laughed, and in the small room, Rhiannon burst into tears. _“-and funny, that's right, and patient. So patient, patience of a saint as your mother used to say._

“ _Look, with Shaun and us all being home together it's been an amazing year but even so I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes sure, things we'll need to adjust to. I'll rejoin the civilian workforce, you'll shake the dust off your law degree.”_

Rhiannon was openly sobbing now, one hand held against her mouth to keep the sounds muffled. Her other wrist was held to her ear so she could hear every crackle of static, every meaningless and wonderful sound her son was making in the background of the recording. Dogmeat whined, resting his head on her lap in worry.

 _“But everything we do no matter how hard, we do it for our family. Now say goodbye Shaun. Bye bye, say bye bye.”_ Shaun, from that day so long ago, babbled into the microphone. _“Bye honey, we love you.”_

With another click, the tape ejected, and left Rhiannon in the quiet again.

* * *

**January 13th, 2288.**

The Banshee had been looking forward to this; once dressed in her usual long coat and the series of leather belts that held it to her small frame, she was to meet with Nisha in the Disciples headquarters. A few Harbingers had headed over there in the previous days, following their orders to make connections in the other gangs. So far, all their feedback had been favorable.

Moira headed out into the cold sun of the mid-morning, doing her best to follow the path her raiders had detailed for her to get there swiftly and unseen.

“Hey! You! I wanna fuckin’ talk to you!”

The Banshee’s dark eyes cut to the source of the voice, and a sharp grin flashed across her lips. She came to a halt. “Scarlett, wasn’t it? Good morning.”

The Queen of Hearts approached with three raiders, though only two of them looked like they had any interest in coming along. The third had his hands tied behind his back and was gagged with a strip of duct tape.

“You must think you’re hot shit, convincing the Overboss to let you slum here.” Scarlett spat, her anger barely obscured by black-rimmed sunglasses that were nearly identical to Caldwell’s, save for the red-tinted glass.

“Not really, no,” Moira replied casually. She folded her hands behind her back and rocked onto her heels, looking between the other four. “I was extended an invitation. Caldwell has merely provided a better opportunity for my people than I could have hoped for.”

“Oh? And I’m sure he’s provided you _plenty_ of opportunity in his bed.” The woman growled, “I know about your little late-night meeting with him.”

“Oh, yes, that. Well, not for his lack of trying, but that was strictly business.” Moira was still smiling. “I don’t fuck my way towards my goals. I earn them with my actual skills.”

“‘That was strictly business,’” Scarlett mocked, “‘I don’t fuck my way towards my goals,’ Mags said the same shit, and she’s been in his bed too! You stay the fuck away from him! He’s mine!”

“You can have him,” Moira replied, sincerely.

“You better not be fucking with me!” Scarlett snarled, “You know what happens when someone fucks with me?!”

“You rip out their hearts, I believe you said.” The Banshee still seemed amused, and nonplussed by the situation. “Very stylized. I like it.”

Fitting a set of bladed brass knuckles over her right hand, Scarlett turned on her heel and repeatedly punched the bound man in the chest. After several puncturing strikes, she reached into the man’s chest and pulled out his heart.

“I RIP OUT THEIR FUCKING HEARTS!” Scarlett screamed, throwing the organ to the ground.

There was a beat, then the Banshee met the Queen’s gaze. “I think I like you, Scarlett. Walk with me?”

“Hey, Banshee!” A voice called from behind, “Have you seen Scarlett? She accidentally took my Psychobuff instead of-”

Mr. Brownstone came upon the scene, glancing between the woman he addressed, the woman wiping her bloodied hands on her feathered dress, said woman’s subordinates, and a bound corpse.

“Hey. Is that guy alright?”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Moira answered breezily. “Scarlett’s here, but I have something I’d like to speak to her about.”

“A’ight. Cool.” Brownstone nodded, staying in place. The Banshee stepped up to the Queen, and spoke low so only she could hear.

“What has sleeping with Caldwell gained you, Scarlett?”

“I… he… he promised…”

“He gets his dick wet and you get to feel special. Look at what you’re doing here. The brutality of your kill. It’s spectacular. Did he teach you that? Or is it all you?”

“I… I mean… I learned from _watching_ him… but I…”

“But you were the one clever enough to take those lessons and manifest your own power. And if my Harbingers have heard correctly, there are whispers that you intend to claim a park for yourself. Is he helping you with that?”

“Yes.” Scarlett answered, sounding definitely certain for the first time in their private exchange.

“I’m not sure you need his help,” Moira continued. This close, the Queen of Hearts could smell the iron note of blood on the Banshee’s breath. “His approval, sure. He’s our great and terrible Overboss. But you don’t need _him,_ Scarlett. So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to walk away, and think about all he’s done to better your position here since bedding you, and all you’ve done for yourself. And then you’re going to tell me if it’s really worth fighting for his attention.”

Scarlett froze, carefully considering the Banshee’s words. Finally, after a few moments, she turned to leave, when Moira caught her shoulder. “Oh, and one last thing.”

In a moment, Moira had Scarlett shoved against a wall, a knife drawn from her sleeve and pressed against the Queen’s throat. “Even if you decide it is worth the fight, if you ever so much as breathe a threat in my direction again, not only will I be removing your heart, I will be making you eat it.”

With that, she released Scarlett and stepped away, giving her plenty of space to make her exit. The Queen of Hearts wordlessly walked away, signalling the others to follow. Moira watched her leave, then straightened her coat. After giving Brownstone a mock salute, she headed on her way to her meeting. This was not one she wanted to be late to.

* * *

“Rosetta… time to get up.” Simon’s voice was barely audible through the door, his attempts to rouse her punctuated and preceded by a trio of knocks..

“It’s Rhiannon,” she called back half-heartedly. Dogmeat, who had slept the night on the bed beside her, huffed, resting his chin on her hip. Rhiannon gave his head a pat.

“Right, sorry Rozanne.” Simon gave an audible sigh, “I’m gonna see if I can get something for this hangover, I’ll meet you at the bar, okay?”

“Okay.” She made no real move to stir. Rhiannon’s head was throbbing slightly and her eyes still stung. She’d spent most of the night crying into her pillow until sleep had overtaken her. After a long pause, she finally sat up.

Dogmeat hopped off the bed, wagging his tail, eager to begin the day. His enthusiasm brought a bit of a smile to Rhiannon’s face as she began to dress herself.

Since the incident in the river, Rhiannon had taken to wearing her Vault 111 jumpsuit as some sort of underclothing. It certainly kept her warmer than the ragged scavenged clothing options of the post-apocalyptic world would on their own.

“You ready to start looking for Shaun, boy?” Rhiannon asked as she retrieved her boots and began to pull them on. Dogmeat barked excitedly in response.

At the bar, Simon sat slowly eating a radscorpion egg omelette and a bowl of squirrel stew. At almost every noise, he would flinch and cover his ears or hold his head in pain.

“Ah-ha! I told you, I _told_ you that you were drinking too much too fast!” Vadim laughed.

“Please… speak softer.” Simon held his head in his hands.

“Morning, Steven.” Rhiannon slid into the barstool next to Simon, hoping she looked at least somewhat put together. But, glancing at the mechanic, she realized anyone would look put together next to him. “...Rough night?”

“I drank _so much_ … why did I drink so much?” Simon mumbled, taking a spoonful of stew. Rhiannon just shook her head and ordered her own breakfast, and something for their canine companion as well.

“Here you are!” Vadim returned cheerily with radstag stew for Rhiannon and mole rat chunks for Dogmeat, “Enjoy!”

“Vadim… _please_ , I am _begging_ you…” Simon groaned.

Dogmeat let out an excited yap and dug into the food provided for him.

“Dogmeat, no… bad… no barking right now.” Simon’s hands covered his ears, “Rhiannon, please, make him stop…”

“Dogmeat,” Rhiannon said sternly, to get the German Shepard's attention. “Speak, boy!”

Wagging his tail wildly, Dogmeat let out a series of loud barks.

“I hate you.” Simon grumbled under his breath.

* * *

_“I had it out with that Disciple chick again today, Anna. Tired of her always winning. She's got better aim, better comebacks... even packs a better punch. Well, not for long. Fuck these rules, I'm going after her. Then when she's floating face down in the swan pond, we'll see who's better. I can't wait to see... What the hell? How'd you get in here?”_

_“A girl's got her ways. I'm just here 'cause Anna's big into helping Nisha keep the peace between all us gangs. Me? Not so much.”_

_“What the-”_

_“That should keep you quiet 'till I get you back to Fizztop. Aw were you recording this just for lil old me? You Operators are such sweethearts.”_

With a click, the holotape recording stopped. Even behind the metal mask she wore, Moira knew the young woman was smiling widely.

“What do you think? Beautiful, right?” Dixie asked, eagerly awaiting Moira’s response.

“Impressive,” the Banshee replied, nodding politely. This was the third tape Dixie had played for her since she’d arrived to await Nisha. And while she was genuinely impressed, it was beginning to grow awkward.

“Dixie. Keeping my guest entertained?” Nisha asked as she leaned against the doorframe of Dixie’s room.

“I was showing Banshee my tapes!” Dixie giggled, “What kept you, boss?”

“Oh, just a little business with the Overboss.” Nisha hummed, “I heard there’s a small caravan coming into Nuka World. Perhaps you should consider preparing a going away party for them.”

“Oooh! Perfect! I’ll get right on that!” Dixie jumped to her feet and rushed off.

“It’s nice to see someone with such a passion for their work,” Moira remarked, watching Dixie leave.

“Indeed.” Nisha responded evenly, “Why don’t you walk with me?”

Moira fell into pace with the taller woman, hands folded behind her back. “It would be my pleasure. And may I say, I quite like the decor. I’m a bit more partial to the bones than the blood and gore, but it’s refreshing.”

“It certainly beats those fucking painted animals in the amphitheater.” Nisha replied, “We make artwork from corpses and our home smells better than theirs.”

The Banshee took in a deep breath. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste. Are the Pack valuable allies, at least?”

“Overboss Caldwell seems to think so, otherwise he would have culled those animals when he took over.” Nisha responded through gritted teeth, “Though I will admit, taking the park in the first place was much easier with the extra cannon fodder they provided.”

Moira openly rolled her eyes at the mention of the Overboss, but otherwise listened intently to Nisha’s assessment. “Interesting. I hope you’ll indulge my questions, Nisha. I’m just trying to understand the structure of the park’s politics, so I can carve out my place in them.”

“I suppose it’s only natural to be curious.” Nisha tipped her head upwards, “Ordinarly, I would leave you to learn on your own, or consult with that fool Gage… but I sense a kindred spirit in you. I see a reflection of myself in a way.”

“I take that as a high compliment,” the Banshee admitted, standing a little taller. “And I have to say, the feeling is mutual. I think we are similar creatures, you and I.”

“The first thing you need to know is the only real rule of Nuka World… ‘don’t get caught.’” Nisha started as they reached the uppermost point of the Disciple’s hideout, “This alliance that Gage pulled together has its uses… and the house of cards we’ve managed to build may crumble in the event of a civil war. Mutually-assured destruction, as some would say.”

Moira nodded, mulling Nisha’s words over as she looked out across the cavern of corpses. After a pause, she looked back to the Disciple. “You don’t seem too fond of Gage. Why is that?”

“All you need to know is that he’s a _failure_.” Nisha’s voice took a stern and hard edge, “He’s lucky that we gave him a second chance after the failure of Colter. If Caldwell fails… he won’t get a third.”

“Do you believe that to be a possibility?” Moira turned back to Nisha, intrigued.

“He has followed through on his promises so far, and has made great strides to our goals…” Nisha glanced over at Moira, “But I always plan for the possibility.”

“And... forgive my presumption, but... are you and Caldwell as... well acquainted as he is with Scarlett and Mags?”

Nisha paused for a moment, staring hard at the Banshee before bursting into laughter, “Oh, my sweet summer child… no. Caldwell has not yet approached me for such matters, and I have no intention of approaching him.”

Moira released a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. But moments later, a frown crossed her features. “I see. Interesting. He gave the impression it was... rather universal.”

“Caldwell is used to weak-minded women throwing themselves at him, such as Mags, who thinks herself so far above it all.” Nisha smirked, “Even he is not immune to the dangers of assuming… or perhaps he was hoping you’d be so easy to manipulate and leash. I take it he approached you?”

“Quite overtly,” Moira confirmed. “But he’ll have to get used to disappointment. I see no merit to sharing his bed, and I can only imagine it would do nothing more than fuel his arrogance.”

“Perhaps… however…” Nisha’s smirk grew as her tone turned conspiratorial, “Caldwell is still but a man. A man with desires. Desires can be a powerful tool to manipulate.”

“Hmm.” The Banshee lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ll keep that in mind, but I’m not one to mix sex and business. It never ends well. Still... desire is powerful, as you say.”

“I’m sure you’re cunning enough to play the game and not get burned.” Nisha looked over her domain, “But enough about Caldwell’s whorish ways.”

“Agreed. We were going to talk shop.” Moira smiled, showing her fangs. “I would love to share our techniques.”

Nisha let out a shrill whistle. About a minute later, a Disciple came up the stairs, dragging a collared man in chains.

“Show me.”

The Banshee, salivating, stepped up to the man and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back to expose his throat to her. “With pleasure.”

* * *

“Hey,” Piper greeted the pair as they entered her abode, “How are you holding up, Blue?”

Rhiannon and Simon glanced at each other, not sure who the reporter was talking to. Rhiannon coughed into her fist, “Umm… Blue?”

“Because you’re a Vault dweller?” Piper responded, gesturing to the Vault suit that Rhiannon wore under her clothes, “Blue jumpsuit, Pip-Boy, that ‘fish out of water’ look… dead giveaways.”

“ _I’m_ not from a Vault.” Simon interjected quietly.

“So here’s the deal… I want an interview. Your life story in print,” Piper continued, “I think it’s time Diamond City had a little outside perspective on the Commonwealth. You do that and…”

Piper paused, “Tell you what, I’ll come with you. Help watch your back while you get used to the world above ground and look for your son.”

“Hold up…” Simon raised a hand, “What _kind_ of interview is this going to be? This isn’t like a casting couch, is it?”

Rhiannon snorted into laughter, caught completely off guard by Simon’s comment. Piper looked utterly bewildered, the Pre-War reference being lost to her.

“Uhh… I ask you who you are, get your opinions on life, maybe throw in a few tough questions to make it interesting.” Piper listed some examples as she tried to move past the moment of confusion, “What do you say?”

“Sure. Why not?” Simon shrugged.

“Okay, Piper… I’m in.” Rhiannon considered for a moment.

“Good! Let’s get down to business. We’ll start with Blue.” Piper retrieved a pen and notepad from an inner pocket of her red leather coat. Simon and Rhiannon sat down on the nearby couch. “Okay, so I know you’re from a Vault… how would you describe your time on the inside?”

Rhiannon took a deep breath, considering her words carefully, “My family and I… were frozen. Just after the bombs fell. We didn’t really spend a lot of time in the Vault. At least... not consciously.”

“Wait.” The implication hit Piper like a truck, “They boxed you up in a fridge the whole time? ‘Just after the bombs fell…’ Does… are you saying…?”

“Yes.” Rhiannon sighed, “I’m... _technically_ over two hundred years old.”

“Oh… my… god…” Piper gasped, “‘The woman out of time…’”

“That’s a fancier title than ‘General of The Minutemen.’” Simon deadpanned. Rhiannon winced.

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how I want people talking about me, Piper.”

“That’s alright, I’ll… change the wording.” Piper scratched and wrote into the notepad, “So you’ve seen the Commonwealth, and you’ve seen Diamond City. How does that compare to your old life? I mean, I _know_ it can’t but…”

“Honestly, seeing everyone surviving out here? Rebuilding the world?” Rhiannon replied, “It gives me hope.”

“That’s… surprisingly inspired, Blue. We are _definitely_ quoting that.” Piper wrote her answer verbatim in her notes, “Now… the big question. I know you’re looking for someone. Who exactly is it?”

Rhiannon began to open her mouth to respond, but found her throat had constricted. _“Now say goodbye Shaun... Bye honey, we love you,”_ replayed in her mind and she couldn’t speak. Sensing the topic was difficult for her to approach, Simon took Rhiannon’s hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. She looked to him, meeting his eyes. Rhiannon held his gaze, and squared her shoulders, and then turned back to Piper.

“My son. My baby, Shaun. He’s not even a year old.”

“A parent after their missing child…” Piper sighed, “As heartbreaking today as it ever was. Do you suspect that The Institute is involved?”

“The... Institute?” Rhiannon’s brow furrowed in confusion, as Simon’s hand tightened around her’s.

“You… don’t know who they are?” Piper asked, “Well, you are from a Vault and before the war, so I guess it makes sense. Sorry.”

“It’s alright…” Rhiannon attempted to ease Piper, “Who are they, exactly?”

“Well that, Blue, is the biggest mystery in the Commonwealth,” Piper started, “Nobody really knows who they are or where they are, but their handiwork is everywhere for all to see. Synths-”

Rhiannon felt Simon flinch again.

“-Synthetic people. Sent from hidden labs to do The Institute’s dirty work. Sometimes they even replace a person with an identical Synth copy. A covert agent no one would expect.” Piper continued, “Now, not _everything_ that goes wrong the Commonwealth has The Institute behind it. Sometimes it’s raiders, or Gunners, or something, but… I guess that’s why I’m asking.”

‘I... I guess that’s possible,” Rhiannon replied with a shrug. “I mean, Shaun _was_ kidnapped, but...”

“I know… still, I’m sorry you have to go through this. Hopefully, we can find him.” Piper wrote her answer down, “For the last part of the interview, I’d like you to make a statement to Diamond City directly. The threat of kidnapping is often ignored in the Commonwealth… people want to pretend that it doesn’t happen.”

Simon’s hand was still gripping onto Rhiannon’s forcefully. Though she wasn’t sure what was causing the sudden tension in the mechanic, she recognized that she was now the one who needed to provide the comfort, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. After a second, some of the tightness ebbed from Simon’s shoulders and grasp.

“What would you say to someone who’s lost a loved one, but might be too scared, or too numb to the world to look for them?” Piper asked.

Rhiannon took a few seconds to think, “No matter how much you want to give up… _don’t_. You have to have hope… that you’ll see them again, or at least, that you’ll know the truth.”

“Wow… that’s a hell of a line to close on.” Piper wrote the quote into her notes. “Thanks… that’s everything…”

Piper paused, and her mouth dropped open, “Oh my God, I never asked for your names!”

“A little excited about your story, eh?” Simon chuckled, “You can call me Simon Lopez.”

“I’m Rhiannon DiMaggio.” Rhiannon extended her arm to shake Piper’s hand.

“Piper Wright.” The reporter smiled as she shook Rhiannon’s hand, “Wow… sorry about the late introductions. Your story will make an excellent article Rhiannon, and I hope it gives Diamond City a lot to think about. Thank you.”

“No problem…” Rhiannon replied, still a little unsure about her Pre-War status being printed in a newspaper.

“Okay, now for you… Stan, was it?” Piper asked, flipping to a new page in her notebook.

“Simon.” He answered as Rhiannon attempted to stifle a giggle.

“Simon, right. What’s your story, then? Are the two of you...” Piper pointed the end of her pencil between them, “I guess, is it your kid you’re looking for, too?”

“Why do people keep saying we’re a-” Simon threw his hands up in the air.

“Well, you do look cute together.” Piper shrugged.

“No, I was married, before...” Rhiannon interrupted, but trailed off.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Piper frowned, rapidly changing the subject, “So, Simon, where in the Commonwealth are you from? Or did you travel here from elsewhere?”

“Well…” Simon hesitated, “I’m from New Vegas. Worked as a courier for awhile… then there was a big political shakeup and I figured that I needed a change of pace and headed east.”

“Huh.” Piper was focused on the notes she was scrawling. “So, what’s the hardest thing to adjust to about living all the way out east?”

“The weather.” Simon sighed, “I mean, there was this community called Jacobstown that was up in the mountains, and it had snow there, but the winters were never as cold as they are out here, and there was never as much snow. Goddamn, I hate snow.”

“‘I hate snow.’ That’ll be a fun quote for the paper.” Piper smirked, “Okay, so how did you and Rhiannon meet? What’s got the eastbound courier on the case for a missing baby?”

“Well… I’m not much of a courier anymore. Nowadays I just like to keep to myself and fix things. I’ve built an automaton- I call him Percy- to keep me company and all, but I just prefer being away from all the hustle and bustle. I got too much of that on the Vegas Strip.” Simon shook his head as he thought back on being surrounded by _people_ all the time, “But I met Rhiannon… Jesus, about… four months ago? I’d just got back from doing freelance work for Vault 81, and I was tired as shit, and some raiders blew off one of Percy’s arms while I was away, so I had to fix it, and then Percy starts bitching, like, ‘I told you to build defensive turrets…’”

“And Percy’s your... robot?” Piper interjected, mainly to give her notes time to catch up.

“Yep. Used an old Mr. Handy as a base, and subbed in some Protectron arms and legs. Had to take out two of the eyes to make room for the arms. We keep saying that we need to-”

“So, you met Rhiannon after you got back from Vault 81. What happened?”

“Right. Sorry, I got off track.” Simon smiled sheepishly, “I was in the middle of looking at blueprints when I heard this voice. And I look up and- truth be told- I panicked, because I didn’t think anyone lived out there. And there she was in front of the garage, the most…”

Simon’s voice trailed off, and he let go of Rhiannon’s hand, as if just now realizing he was still holding it. Rhiannon looked to Simon, curious about the words he stopped himself from saying.

“...Anyway, yeah, that’s when I met her.”

“And I’d literally _just_ left the Vault,” Rhiannon supplied, laughing nervously. “So that probably added to the shock.”

“And what was your first impression?” Piper asked, looking towards Simon.

“I… well…” Simon stammered, “I… noticed that she was very clean, first of all, so that was my first clue that she was a Vault dweller of some type. But she looked very… distraught. So I went to her Vault to investigate, still a little sleep deprived, and when I came back, Percy told me she’d gone to Concord to look for her kid. I crashed right after.”

“No answers in Concord, I expect.” Piper focused on her note taking for a moment, then asked again, “So what happened between then and now that convinced you to help her out?”

“Well… to be honest, I was a bit of a dickhead.” Simon shook his head as he recalled how he acted, “She found some settlers in Concord being attacked by raiders, including some leftover Minutemen, so she took them to an abandoned town right by where I was staying and set up shop. I was a little put out, because I was trying to avoid people. Around Christmastime I guess the guilt caught up with me.”

“You mentioned Rhiannon is the General of the Minutemen.” Piper’s eyes suddenly lit up, and her pencil was poised above her paper. “Does that mean they’re coming back?”

“We’re doing the best we can,” Rhiannon answered with what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Wicked.” Piper grinned. “Okay, one last question for Mr. Lopez; anything you want to say to the people of Diamond City? I guess being from New Vegas makes you a bit of an outsider, too. Though to a significantly lesser degree.”

“Well, what I’d _like_ to say is ‘Mayor McDonogh is a slimy piece of shit,’” Simon responded, “But I don’t think you should print that…”

“Yeah, probably better leave that in the subtext.” The reporter smirked.

“Really though, I think Diamond City is a nice enough city… but people just gotta start giving a shit about each other.”

“Well said, Mr. Lopez.” Piper nodded, making sure to get the quote exactly as he said it in her notes, “Your article might take a little work, but I’m sure people will find it an intriguing companion piece to your friend’s.

“Anyway, I agreed to come with you? Watch your back? I can’t wait to see where your stories go next.” Piper smiled and folded up her notebook, “And I think I know _just_ the person to help you find Shaun.”

Rhiannon sat up straighter on the couch, leaning forward. “Who?”

“His name’s Nick Valentine,” Piper responded, “He lives in town, I’ll take you there.”

“Well, great, let’s go!” Rhiannon’s previous melancholy had evaporated, replaced by the eagerness and determination to find her son. Sensing her excitement, Dogmeat, who until now had been laying on the floor beside the couch, leaped to his paws.

“Bark!”

* * *

When the Banshee finally exited the Fizztop, her face, clothes, and hands were covered in blood. Pushing the hair from her eyes as she blinked out into the sun left dark crimson streaks among the white. She felt exhilarated, powerful, and pleasantly satisfied.

The meeting had been an overwhelming success, with personal allegiances forged, and a plan for the Harbingers to... _dispose_ of the bodies the Disciples needed to rid themselves of. Moira couldn’t have been more pleased.

After a moment to breathe in the fresh air, the Banshee headed back towards her gang’s headquarters, head held high. As she approached the lift that led to the Overboss’s office, she heard a familiar laugh, and paused, taking a moment to listen in.

“Christ, sounds like a shit show,” Witch was saying, words affected by his laughter. “And how long was that idiot in charge of everyone?”

“Too long.” Gage shook his head with a smile, “Man, you should’ve seen what it was like to watch him fight though. He’d try and get the gangs all riled up right before one of his fights. The Disciples would chant for blood, the Pack would howl and bark like animals, and the Operators… clapped politely.”

“So do all of the Operators have a stick up their ass, then? Is it like, a requirement to join?” Witch grinned, and leaned an elbow on the wall.

“I don’t know about that, but a fuckton of hairspray definitely is!”

“Having fun?” The Banshee interrupted smoothly. Witch’s smile dropped for a second, then spread anew.

“Yeah, M- Banshee, I was getting acquainted with our new buddy Gage. He’s the boots on the ground for the Overboss so... you know,” Witch replied easily.

“Your boy here’s an interesting one.” Gage turned to Moira, jumping a little when he noticed the sheer volume of blood that coated her, “I gotta get back to work, good talking with ya, Witch.”

“Anytime,” Witch replied.

Gage pat Witch twice on the shoulder and headed off towards the market. Moira folded her arms.

“I’m sorry, I recall someone telling me that politics and pleasure don’t mix.”

“That someone was right,” Witch answered, linking arms with Moira as they headed back together. “I’m just making friends.”

“Mmhmm.” The Banshee rolled her eyes. “Well, you aren’t the only one with a new friend. I think you’ll be very happy to hear about the arrangement I made with the Disciples.”

* * *

“I told you your luck wouldn’t last forever…”

Rhiannon, Piper, and Simon shared awkward glances as a woman looked sadly through a file cabinet. After a few moments of nonverbal debate, Simon finally coughed into his fist to catch the morose woman’s attention.

“...Is something wrong?” Simon asked hesitantly.

“Another stray coming in from the rain…” The woman sighed, “I’m afraid you’re too late. Office is closed.”

Rhiannon paled and looked to her companions, then back to the woman. “Closed? But... the sign was on, and-”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. But it’s just… the detective. He’s gone missing.”

“Nicky’s missing?” Piper gasped, “What has he gotten himself into this time?”

“Nicky disappeared working a case,” The receptionist continued, “Skinny Malone’s gang kidnapped a young woman, and he tracked them to their hideout in Park Street Station. There’s an old Vault down there they use as a base. I _told_ him he was walking into a trap but… he just smiled and walked out the door like he always does.”

“Don’t worry,” Simon said, putting a hand on Rhiannon’s back, “We’ll find him.”

“Thank you,” The woman smiled, “Nick should be easy to recognize… he’s probably wearing that old hat and trench coat getup. _Please_ hurry.”

“I…” Simon blanked, realizing he’d just accidentally volunteered the group to find the lost detective.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Ellie,” Piper nodded, “We’ll get Nicky back, and in one piece.”

Patting Dogmeat on the head, Rhiannon held the door open, and took a deep breath. Putting on her best Minuteman tone of assurance, she nodded to Ellie. “We’ll be back before you know it.”


	12. Where The Streets Have No Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon adds three new members to the party on their way to rescue Nick Valentine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Police Brutality, Graphic Violence, Animal Violence, everything about Goodneighbor
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by U2.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWELVE**

**WHERE THE STREETS HAVE NO NAME**

* * *

**January 13th, 2288.**

“Don’t move, _Synth_ ! What have you done with the _real_ Riley?! Where’s my brother?!”

“Kyle, what are you doing?! _I’m_ your brother!”

As Rhiannon and her companions passed by the marketplace, a tense scene lay before them. One man had his gun trained on his brother, who had his hands raised in surrender. Rhiannon slowed to a halt, catching Simon by the elbow and pulling him to a stop as well. She exchanged a nervous glance with Piper, hoping to find some kind of explanation. A tinge of guilt entered the reporter’s eyes, as if she’d seen this side effect of her work before… and knew where it would end.

“I found your secret stash of holotapes, Riley! Do you know what I found?! ‘Take It Back’ by Jimmy Buffett, ‘Nautical Wheelers’ by Jimmy Buffett, ‘Jolly Mon Sing’ by Jimmy Buffett, ‘Steamer’ by Jimmy Buffett!” Kyle was growing angrier with every song listed, “‘Treat Her Like a Lady’ by Jimmy Buffett! ‘Mañana’ by Jimmy Buffett! ‘When Salome Plays the Drum’ by _James Buffett_ !  ‘Havaña Daydreaming’ by Jimmy _fucking_ Buffett! What the _fuck_ happened to you?!”

“I was just trying to relive the family vacation in Far Harbor-” Riley attempted to placate his brother to no avail.

“‘Only Synths listen to Jimmy Buffett!’ _You_ said that! Were you _lying_ ? Are you _haunted_ ? Are you a fucking _Synth_ ? You used to be my _brother_ !” Kyle shouted, taking a half step forward.

“I _swear_ I’m not a Synth! Don’t shoot! For God’s sakes _we’re family_!”

At that moment, Diamond City Security arrived in force. Three armed guards took positions around the scene, aiming at the aggressor.

“Put the gun down! Now!” One of the officers commanded the gunman.

“He’s a Synth! He’ll kill us all!” Kyle kept his gun trained on his brother. In a heartbeat, the officers opened fire, a pair of bullets piercing his chest and one through the head.

“Kyle, no!!” Riley dove to hold his brother’s body, beginning to sob.

“Okay, show’s over! There are _no_ Synths in Diamond City, d’ya hear me?! Just you folks and your damn paranoia!” One of the officers stepped forward to address the audience.

Rhiannon, who’d previously had her hand over her mouth in horrified shock, felt a rising surge of indignation. Taking a step forward, she jabbed her finger towards the officers.

“You just-” Before she could finish, or even properly begin, her tirade, Simon had grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her to face him.

“Not. Now.” He whispered sternly, “Wait until we’re outside.”

“But they _killed_ that man!”

“Rhiannon. Please.” Simon insisted, glancing back at the scene. “I will explain when we’re out of the city.”

For a moment, Rhiannon appeared to want to argue further. But, after a beat, she shut her mouth and set her jaw.

“What’s everyone still standing around for?! Go back to your own damn business!” The same officer shouted again. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, trying to force the events that unfolded out of their minds.

“Let’s go.” Piper jerked her head towards the stairs leading up to the exit of Diamond City. Her voice was heavy with remorse, and she seemed eager to escape the situation.

The party gave the officers and the grieving man as wide a berth as they could as they departed Diamond City. Their ascent of the stairwell was silent, as was their pass beyond the gate. However, once they’d turned a corner and walked through an old alleyway, Rhiannon snapped.

“What the _fuck_ was that?!”

“People in Diamond City are _very_ sensitive about Synths. You say the ‘S’ word, and people lose their minds.” Simon said, still keeping his voice low, “It’s like the Salem witch trials all over again.”

“It all goes back to the Broken Mask incident of 2229.” Piper sighed, “A man named Carter came into town and stopped at the bar for some drinks. A few hours later, something in him… shifted. Next thing people know, he’s coldly gunning down nearby civilians. Diamond City Security took him down, but not before he’d claimed four or five lives. Turns out 'Carter' was a Synth, the first third generation Synth we’d ever seen.”

“People are fuckin’ scared, and when people are scared they do dumb shit.” Simon added.

“Well, shit, Simon, I’m scared too! All the time! And I don’t gun down people in the middle of the street!” Rhiannon retorted, throwing up her hands.

“That’s because you’re a _person_ , Rhiannon.” Simon moved to stand chest to chest with the general, “A _person_ is smart. _People_ are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you _know_ it.”

“That’s bullshit!” Rhiannon gave Simon a shove to push him out of her face. As she did, Dogmeat began to growl uncertainly, looking between them both. “If they’re going to panic, they shouldn’t be armed and put in charge of protecting people!”

“Hey kids, stop fighting!” Piper stood between the arguing couple, “We’re supposed to be rescuing Nick Valentine, remember? We can argue about this later.”

Simon let out an annoyed sigh, “You’re right. Let’s just… move on.”

“Fine,” Rhiannon said shortly. Rhiannon’s face said that it was most certainly _not_ fine. As they headed onwards, Dogmeat whined and licked her fingers. The general sighed, and scratched behind his ears. “Good boy.”

* * *

Close to sundown, the troupe arrived in Boston Common. While Park Street Station was within reach, Piper suggested they find a place to stay so that they’d be rested for the hard task of taking on the Triggermen. Unfortunately, the nearest settlement, Goodneighbor, had a less than savory reputation. However, there were no better options.

As they approached the front door, a pair of familiar faces grimaced at Rhiannon: Wolfgang and his bodyguard leaning against the wall outside of Goodneighbor. Ignoring their presence, Rhiannon opened the door for her companions to enter the settlement.

Rhiannon’s mouth dropped open for a moment as she surveyed the scene before them. Two men drunkenly brawled in the street while a man in reflective sunglasses watched. Nearby, a woman huffed Jet as she reclined on a bench. Through a first story window, Rhiannon could just barely see a male ghoul in a blue padded jacket with a prostitute on her knees before him.

“It’s... better than nothing?” Rhiannon muttered uncertainly, averting her eyes.

“Hey! Hold up there!” A rough-looking man in leathers called out to the group, “First time in Goodneighbor? Can’t go walking around without insurance.”

“Unless it’s ‘keep dumb assholes away from us’ insurance, we’re not interested.” Piper rolled her eyes.

“Aww, now don’t be like that.” The man took a drag from his cigarette, “I think you’re gonna like what I have on offer.”

“Really?” Piper folded her arms, “Because something tells me you’ve never satisfied anyone in your life before.”

“You hand over everything in those pockets, or ‘accidents’ will start happenin’ to ya.” The thug growled, “Big, bloody ‘accidents.’”

“Whoa, whoa, time out.”

A voice came from the alleyway, belonging to a ghoul in a red frock coat and a tricorn hat. He effortly breezed between the brawling drunks as he approached the group.

“Someone steps through that gate for the first time, they’re a _guest_.” The ghoul said, “You lay off that extortion crap.”

“What do you care?” The man scoffed as he turned to the ghoul, “They ain’t one of us.”

“No love for your mayor, Finn?” The ghoul’s naturally raspy voice dipped into a growl, “I _said_ let them go.”

“You’re _soft_ , Hancock.” Finn growled back, “You keep letting outsiders walk over us, and pretty soon… there’ll be a new mayor.”

“Come on, man… this is _me_ we’re talking about!” Hancock smiled as he approached Finn, “Let me tell you something…”

The ghoul put a friendly arm on Finn’s shoulder. In a flash, his other hand grabbed a knife and plunged it twice into the thug’s chest. As Finn gasped, the ghoul gave the dying man a light shove, and he fell to the pavement.

“Now why’d you have to do that, huh? Breakin’ my heart over here…” Hancock sighed as he returned the knife to a sheath on his belt. The ghoul turned to address the newcomers, “Hey, are you kids alright over there?”

“You… you killed him!” Rhiannon gasped.

“You got a good pair of eyes on ya.” Hancock responded, “I think you’ll fit in here fine. Goodneighbor’s of the people, for the people, you feel me? Everyone’s welcome.”

“…Yeah…” Simon stared at the dead man on the ground, “We feel you.”

“Good. Stay cool, and you’ll be part of the neighbourhood…” Hancock smiled, “Just so long as you remember who’s in charge.”

With that, Hancock turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing into a nearby building.

“...Welcome to Goodneighbor?” Simon gave a nervous smile to the women he travelled with.

“Can we go somewhere where people _aren’t_ getting killed in the streets by authority figures?” Rhiannon exclaimed.

“Vault 81?” Simon shrugged, “ _Maybe_ Bunker Hill?”

“Can we just find a room somewhere and a stiff drink?” Piper asked, “Not necessarily in that order.”

“Yes, please,” Rhiannon sighed.

It didn’t take them too long to find the local watering hole; The Third Rail was in the ruins of a subway station. A woman in a red dress sang for the nearly packed bar while a Mr. Handy in a bowler hat served drinks.

“I’ve been in worse.” Simon sighed as they overlooked the scene.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anywhere to sit around here.” Piper commented.

“Look there,” Simon pointed off to the side, where a woman was leaning against a doorframe. She wore an outfit that was little more than a series of leather belts and straps over combat pants and a bra. Half her head was shaved, and pale brown hair framed the other side of her angular face as she observed the singer with a look of removed disinterest. A baseball bat full of nails leaned on the wall beside her.

“My bet is that’s a VIP room.” The mechanic continued, “We could talk our way in.”

“Simon, if it’s a VIP room they’re not going to let us in,” Rhiannon said skeptically.

“You’re the general of the Minutemen and we’ve got the best reporter in Diamond City with us.” Simon rolled his eyes as he began to walk down the steps, “I’m sure we can persuade her.”

Rhiannon and Piper exchanged glances, before the reporter shrugged and headed after Simon, Dogmeat already on the mechanic’s heels, tail wagging. Giving a sigh, Rhiannon followed behind.

As they approached, the woman in the doorway’s gaze shifted to them, and her green eyes narrowed. Lifting her bat, she pointed it at Simon, to stop him from walking in. “Hold up there a second, sugar.”

Simon blinked twice at the pet name, “Yeah? What’s up?”

“The public bar’s behind you. You want to get in here, you have to be pretty elite.” The woman spoke in a casual, almost bored tone, with just the touch of a southern accent.

“Yeah, we got the general of the Minutemen and-”

“And the fee is fifty caps a head.”

Piper gave the woman an incredulous look, “Seriously? Fifty caps?”

“I know what I said,” the bouncer replied, squinting at Piper. “Five-Zero. Per person.”

“I could buy five bottles of Borbov’s moonshine for that!” Simon threw his hands up in the air.

“Woof!” Dogmeat barked in agreement. The woman’s eyes dropped to the German Shepherd and widened.

“Okay, let’s just go find a place to stay then.” Rhiannon sighed, patting the dog, “Come on, Dogmeat.”

“Wait.” The woman in the doorway lowered her bat. “I’ll tell y’all what, you uh... let me pet your dog and you tell MacCready I charged y’all full and you can get in at ten caps each.”

Simon’s mouth dropped open as he glanced between his companions, “Seriously?!”

“Deal.” Rhiannon said, before anyone else could interject. The woman set her bat aside and knelt down, holding out a hand for Dogmeat to smell. He approached, sniffed, then licked her fingers. The woman let out a soft gasp and reached to scratch behind his ears.

As Dogmeat leaned into the affection, his tail wagging happily, she looked up at Rhiannon. “This is the best dog. Does he have a name?”

“Well, I’m told his name’s Dogmeat.” Rhiannon responded, “I didn’t really like the name, but if that’s what he’s called-”

“Oh. I thought you were talking about him.” The woman nodded her head towards Simon, both hands busy now rubbing Dogmeat’s belly as he’d rolled over against her knees.

“Hey!” Simon protested.

“What’s your name?” Piper asked the bouncer.

“Lilith Rook,” she answered, “But most folk call me Lily.”

“Well, Lily,” Rhiannon reached into her coinpurse, “Here are your caps.”

“Thank you kindly,” Lilith replied, reaching up to collect. “Go on in; I’ll send your pooch in after in a second.”

The trio headed in as Lilith cooed over Dogmeat. As they entered, two rough looking men in military fatigues walked out, pushing past them.

“Watch it.” One of them growled at Simon. The mechanic glared back at the man, but didn’t respond.

The VIP room was lit by red-tinted lights, giving a soft rose glow to everything within. A cabinet held a collection of bottles of booze, and a few chems as well. The only other occupant was a young man in a long coat with a green hat sitting in a red lounge chair.

“Look ladies,” He sighed as they approached, “If you’re preaching about the Atom, or looking for a friend, you’ve come to the wrong place. If you’re looking for a hired gun… maybe we can talk.”

“A hired gun?” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, you going deaf or something?” The man rolled his eyes, “You pay me and I’ll help you shoot sh- stuff.”

The trio looked between one another for a moment, each clearly considering the possible benefits of that based on where they were headed.

“But what about you?” The man eyed them, “How do I know you won’t gang up on me and put a bullet in my back?”

“Chill, Cready.” Lilith’s voice carried into the room, as Dogmeat padded in and took a seat beside Rhiannon. A moment later, the woman entered the room, bat across her shoulders. “They’re legit.”

“Well…” MacCready sighed, “If Lily says you’re cool, then I guess you won’t double-cross us. Individually, we’re two hundred fifty caps. Package deal, we’re four hundred. Up front, and no bargaining.”

“Well, what does she do?” Simon asked, jerking a thumb towards Lilith.

“Whatever needs doin’, sugar,” Lily replied with a wink. Simon flushed a little and dipped his hat over his face.

“So. What do you say?” MacCready tapped his foot impatiently.

“How many caps do you have left, Simon?” Rhiannon turned to the mechanic.

“I got around two hundred. How much do you have?”

“About the same.” Rhiannon sighed, “We might not have enough for rooms.”

“I can chip in fifty,” Piper offered, “That or cover our rooms.”

“Alright. It’s a deal, then.” Rhiannon turned back to MacCready.

“You’ve just bought yourself an extra gun and a swiss army knife.” The mercenary smiled, “Come on, boss… I’ll show you to the Hotel Rexford.”

* * *

“Okay, so… good news and bad news.” Piper clasped her hands together as she approached her group in the lobby of the hotel, “Good news is I got us rooms. The bad news is there was only _one_ room left.”

“Dibs on the dog,” Lilith piped up immediately. MacCready turned to give her a puzzled look.

“Shouldn’t the dog have a say in where he sleeps?” Simon asked. Dogmeat barked, though it was unclear as to who he was agreeing with.

“Shouldn’t we be more concerned about the fact that five people- plus a dog- have to share a single room?” Piper asked, giving Simon and Lilith an incredulous look.

“Rook and I have our own room.” MacCready responded, “What? You think we’re gonna sleep in some warehouse or in the VIP room?”

“We could probably fit one more, if you’re all concerned about bunking together,” Lilith offered. “Hence why I offered Dogmeat a spot.”

“So we’re gonna be stuck with the grease monkey?” Piper asked, glancing between Simon and Rhiannon.

“Hey!” Simon protested.

“Or-” Rhiannon interrupted, “Lily can room with Piper and I, and Simon and MacCready can share his room.”

“Question.” Lily held up a finger.

“Dogmeat will room with us,” Rhiannon answered, already knowing what the woman was going to ask. Lilith slowly lowered her hand.

“Come on, I’ll show you to the room… and the couch you’ll be sleeping on.” MacCready jerked his thumb towards the stairwell.

“Yeah… wait, what?” Simon blinked twice.

As the two men ascended the stairs, arguing about the sleeping arrangements, a ghoul in a dirty yellow coat with a matching hat descended the staircase. As he approached the front desk, presumably to speak to the receptionist, he and Rhiannon caught each other’s glance. In a moment, his face contorted with shock and rage.

“What?! No… it _can’t_ be… it… it’s you! From Sanctuary Hills!” He gasped, eyes wide.

“Wait… are…” Rhiannon’s face paled ever so slightly, “Are you… from Vault Tec?”

“I _am_ Vault Tec!” The ghoul growled, “Twenty years of loyal service and now look at me! I wasn’t on the list. But you… two hundred years and you look the same! How… how did you do it?! How is it possible?!”

“Wait, two hundred years?” Lilith’s head snapped towards Rhiannon.

“The Vault had these pods that froze us in place…” Rhiannon ignored Lilith’s question, “I only got out a few months ago.”

“What?! Vault Tec never told me that!” The Vault Tec sales representative gasped, “Well… I had to get to the future the _hard_ way. Living through the _filth_ , the _decay_ , the _bloodshed_!

“Look at me!” He yelled in an angry and sorrowed voice. On a balcony above them, MacCready and Simon were watching intently, the mercenary with a scoped hunting rifle in hand, “I’m a ghoul! I’m a freak!”

“I’m so sorry…” Rhiannon responded, a tear trailing down her cheek, “I didn’t know…”

“You know… you’re the only person I’ve met from before… I… uh…” The ghoul rasped, “Oh God, I’ve been so alone… No Commonwealth settlement wants a ghoul with two hundred years of Vault Tec sales experience! Diamond City wouldn’t let me in, Bunker Hill-”

“You could go back to Sanctuary Hills.” Rhiannon suggested, “I know the people there. They’ll let you stay there, and maybe even help you find something to do. Maybe you could open up a store? And I’ll come visit you, I promise.”

“You… you will? Really?” The ghoul’s eyes lit up, “I’ll… I’ll go right now! You promise you’ll visit, right? I’ll see you there!”

“If anyone gives you trouble, tell Preston Garvey that the general invited you and said you could stay.” Rhiannon added, giving the salesman a pat on the arm.

“My… my name’s Paul.” The ghoul smiled, “I don’t think I ever introduced myself… two hundred years ago.”

“It’s nice to meet you again, Paul.” Rhiannon smiled back as Paul tipped his hat and headed for the door.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Lilith broke the moment of silence. “Is anyone else’s mind getting completely fucked? You were on ice for _two hundred years_?!”

“I’m with you, Lil!” MacCready called from the balcony above.

“Can… we just get to our room? We’ll talk there.” Rhiannon sighed, wiping her eyes.

* * *

“Well. Holy sh- crap.” MacCready said as Rhiannon finished retelling her life story.

“I mean... _fuck_.” Lilith ran a hand across her head, fingers catching her hair. “That’s... that’s fucked up.”

“Jesus, Blue,” Piper exclaimed, “I know you told me some of it… but that’s still a lot to go through.”

“Yeah.” Rhiannon looked exhausted, sitting on the edge of the bed staring down at her hands. “I know, but it’s almost over.”

MacCready and Lilith shared a quick glance. The rifleman’s eyes were just a little wet, and he tried to subtly wipe them without the others noticing. Lilith set a hand on his knee, squeezing gently.

“So we’re going after this Valentine fella?” Lily clarified.

“Right.” Simon nodded, “He’s this Diamond City detective, apparently really good at finding people.”

“There’s no ‘apparently’ about it,” Piper amended, “If anyone can find Shaun, it’s him.”

Lily’s hand tightened just a hint on MacCready’s leg before she let it fall. “Well, we’re onboard.”

“Damn right.” MacCready nodded, “Besides, you paid us.”

“Yeah, we paid you _a lot_ ,” Piper murmured under her breath.

“Thank you,” Rhiannon said, hoping they hadn’t heard the reporter. “We’ll need all the help we can get.”

“Hmm.” MacCready furrowed his brows in thought, “You know… if you need ‘all the help you can get,’ I think I know somebody that could help. If we can afford a detour to the Combat Zone tomorrow, I could probably get us an extra hand.”

“Ah, shit, really?” Lily winced. “I’m not allowed back in there, Cready.”

“We can give it a try.” Simon shrugged, “I mean… may as well, right?”

“What’s the Combat Zone? And how far is it?” Rhiannon asked.

“It’s a bar and fighting pit.” MacCready replied, “It’s not far at all, actually. But…”

“…But?”

“But a _lot_ of raiders and Gunners hang out there.” MacCready finished.

“And you got yourself banned?” Piper raised an eyebrow at Lilith. The mercenary shrugged.

“Banned is a strong word. ‘Strongly discouraged from coming back’ is a little more accurate.”

“Tomorrow’s gonna be a busy day.” Simon pinched the bridge of his nose, “We should get some sleep.”

“Yeah... We’ll see you in the morning,” MacCready replied, getting to his feet. Turning to Simon, he added, “Our room’s just down the hall.”

“Alright. See you in the morning, Rhiannon… Piper… Lily.” Simon nodded to each of the women, “Dogmeat.”

“Woof!”

“Sweet dreams, sugar,” Lily replied with a small salute. “Night, Cready.”

“Night, Rook.”

With that, both men exited the room. Lilith watched them go, then turned toward Rhiannon.

“So... on a lighter note, are you and Simon _together_?”

“What?!” Rhiannon’s face flushed, “No!”

“Well, thank God. I’m gonna climb that like a ladder.”

“Aren’t you and MacCready… _together_?” Piper asked, stressing the word in the same manner Lily had.

“Me and Cready? No. I mean... sometimes, but no. You know?” Lilith explained vaguely.

“A friend with benefits type thing?” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, appreciative that the pressure of the conversation was off of her.

Lilith snapped, leading into a finger gun. “That’s the ticket. He’s... not the type to settle down. And neither am I, really. I just didn’t want to overstep.”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.” Rhiannon nervously rubbed at her forearm. “I’m tired though.”

“Yeah, how’s the sleeping arrangement gonna go?” Piper looked around the room, “We got a bed that’ll fit two, and a couch.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Lilith offered with a shrug. Dogmeat jumped onto the bed and walked in a circle, curling up at the foot. “... Traitor.”

“Don’t take it personally, he’s just really empathetic.” Rhiannon sighed, rubbing the top of Dogmeat’s head.

“Yeah, well, see if I share my breakfast with you now,” the mercenary threatened, heading over to flop down on the couch. Dogmeat huffed a heavy sigh of his own.

“Goodnight Piper, Lily.” Rhiannon pulled off all she wore, save for her Vault suit and crawled under the covers.

“G’night,” Lily replied, folding her arms and shifting to get as comfortable as possible.

* * *

**January 14, 2288.**

“No, for real, Creads. They’re not gonna be happy to see me heading in there with y’all.”

“Then wear a mask. Or a bandana.” MacCready rolled his eyes, “You could always wait outside.”

“I’ll wait outside with Dogmeat,” Lily conceded.

“Why can’t Dogmeat come inside?” Piper asked, patting the German Shepherd as he walked between the small group.

“Let’s just say there might be a couple of people in there who’ll take the name literally.”

“Jesus H. Christ.” Simon grimaced, trying to push the thought out of his head.

“Also I can pet him while we wait.”

“And _there_ it is.” MacCready smirked.

“Shut up, Cready.” Lily gave his arm a shove.

“We’re here.” The male mercenary gestured to an old building. At one point a Pre-War theatre, the sign above the door now bore the new name of the establishment.

“Ah, the Combat Zone…” Piper remarked, “No finer place to get murdered in all the Commonwealth.”

“Huh. That’s weird.” MacCready furrowed his brows.

“What?” Simon asked, looking around the alleyway and up at the scaffolding.

“Where’s Carver?” MacCready asked, pointing at the front door, “They usually have Carver or somebody watching on the outside.”

“You think something went screwy inside?” Lilith asked, reaching for the pipe pistol on her belt.

“I don’t know, but you’d better stay outside. They’ll probably shoot you on sight.” MacCready put his hand over the one that gripped her gun.

“What the fuck did you do?!” Simon stared at Lilith.

“I’ll tell y’all later, sugar,” she replied, reluctantly moving her hand away from her weapon. “For now I’ll post up down by that old street lamp. You need me, start screaming.”

“I’m sure you’d hear the guns first.” MacCready smirked before turning to the others, “Alright… let’s go in.”

The rifleman led the general, mechanic, and reporter in through the front door as Dogmeat took a seat next to Lily. She reached over and scratched behind his ears. “Just you and me for now, boy. They’ll be fine.”

Inside the old theatre, they could hear the muffled shouting of patrons from the other side of a wooden door. To their left, a makeshift jail cell held a pair of bound raiders.

“Stick close to me,” MacCready warned the others, “Put on a mean face… but not too mean.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Simon asked. MacCready ignored him and opened the main door.

Directly in front of them, between makeshift shacks that served as bars, sitting areas, and bunkrooms, lay a straight path towards a caged boxing ring. Inside the cage, two women fought viciously. One, a redhead, seemed to have the advantage, pummeling her opponent with a baseball bat.

“Can’t we go _anywhere_ where people aren’t-” Rhiannon started, but MacCready put a hand over her mouth.

“And there she is, our newest friend.” He pointed to the redhead in the cage. A sickening crack filled the air.

“The one who just broke the other one’s jaw, I hope.” Piper openly cringed.

“Yup.”

“Oh, that’s just excessive!” Simon’s face turned a little green as the woman continued to slam the bat into her downed rival’s head.

“...Yup.” MacCready conceded as he led them further in, “I’m sure Tommy will let us borrow her for a bit.”

“And that concludes this round! Cait remains the undisputed champion!” A ghoul barked into a microphone as the pit fighter raised her hands in victory.

As the group approached the floor sitting area, a man near one of the bars pointed at them.

“Hey! That’s her!” Wolfgang shouted, “That bitch that chased me out of my territory!”

“Oh, shit.” Rhiannon paled, and suddenly wished she’d stayed outside with Lily and Dogmeat.

“Get them!”

“Oh fu- sh- hell!” MacCready cursed after two false starts, grabbing Rhiannon and Piper by an arm each and pulling them back towards the exit as bullets begun to fly towards them, “We gotta find some cover!”

“No shit!” Simon snapped as he grabbed his pipe revolver, firing two shots blindly behind him as he followed the others.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, I’m too pretty to die!” The ghoul shouted in terror as he rushed into the cage in an attempt to hide.

“There!” MacCready pointed with his rifle to a bar shack near the entrance. Firing a shot, the head of the bartender exploded before he could fire his pipe rifle in their direction.

Rhiannon barely bit back a small shriek of surprise, but had no time to make a sound. Piper grabbed her wrist and immediately tugged the general into the shack as a spray of bullets peppered the wall above them.

“Hey-” A raider they hadn’t seen when they entered turned and aimed a pipe pistol in their direction, only for Piper to fire first… and second, and third, and fourth.

“Hey yourself,” the reporter grumbled, reloading as the man crumpled to the ground.

Simon, previously pinned down in his spot behind a set of theatre chairs, rushed into the bar with the ladies, hiding behind a counter. “This is fucked!”

“No shit!” Rhiannon shouted back, drawing her shotgun. The sound of a snarling bark caught her attention, and she chanced a look over the counter.

“I leave you alone for not even two goddamn minutes, MacCready! And the whole damn place is in a shootout?!” Lilith had appeared in the door, firing into a few nearby Gunners with barely a glance in their direction. Each shot was well-placed; an eye, a throat, a forehead, the center of their chest.

“Not my fault!” MacCready shouted back. Dogmeat rushed to a nearby raider, grabbing the man’s arm with his teeth and pulling him into the open for the rifleman to take a shot.

“We can fucking argue later!” Simon fired wildly at a cluster of raiders on the ground floor, every shot missing entirely.

“Stop wasting ammo!” Piper yelled at the mechanic, watching his aims go wide.

“Excuse me if I’m having a panic attack!” Simon snapped, “This is why I take Percy with me!”

“Then get down,” the reporter retorted, shoving him back and taking Simon’s place to fire into the raiders.

“Fuck you!” Wolfgang shouted as he fired a pipe revolver in Rhiannon’s direction. Beside him, his bodyguard fired a double-barrelled shotgun at anyone who stuck their neck out to fire back at her boss.

Rhiannon ducked down, but felt a white hot streak of pain race across her cheek just as she did. Lifting a hand to the pain on instinct, her fingers came away with blood from where the bullet had just grazed her. Seeing this, Simon felt a rush of boiling rage.

“Son of a fucking… fuck!”

The mechanic vaulted through the window of the shack in the moment where both Wolfgang and his bodyguard were reloading. Landing on the ground, Simon fired six shots, four of them hitting Wolfgang throughout his chest, one hitting the bodyguard in the neck, and the last one going through the bodyguard’s mouth as she attempted to call to her employer.

“See, _that’s_ how you shoot, sugar!” Lily called across the room. A bullet hit the floor between her feet, and she fired twice in the direction it came from, rewarded by a scream of pain.

“Right in the babymaker!” A high pitched voice squealed.

“Only four left-” MacCready called before firing his rifle at a Gunner on the upper balcony, “Three left!”

“Two,” Lilith called back after reloading her pistol and firing a shot into the head of a raider.

Dogmeat rushed into a shack. Moments later, screaming could be heard from inside, and then a sudden silence. Dogmeat padded out, his jaws wet with blood, “Bark!”

Before Dogmeat could get much further into the room, he let out a yelp, staggering and falling as a bullet struck him in the shoulder. Lilith and Rhiannon- who had stepped back out into the room as their enemies’ numbers dwindled- both emptied their guns into the remaining man.

“I got him!” Simon called as he rushed for Dogmeat, sliding to his knees as he reached the injured animal. Pulling out some tools from a pouch on his belt, he began to examine Dogmeat. Rhiannon rushed to his side.

“Is he okay? How bad is it?” The general asked frantically.

“…You think they’re done out there?” The ghoul spoke out from his hiding place, “We don’t want any trouble! Not any more, at least.”

“Not as bad as it could’ve been,” Simon picked out a pair of pliers, “Piper, can you help me out here? Hold Dogmeat still while I get the bullet out!”

“Oh, just peek your head out, ya damn coward!” The redhead chastised the ghoul.

“To heck with _that_! I’m too pretty to go out like this.” He responded.

“Rhiannon, you should take the mercs and see our new friend. Piper and I can handle the pooch.” Simon glanced over to the general as Piper approached and held the German Shepherd in place, gently stroking his fur.

“Are you sure?” Lilith had joined them now, looking almost as concerned as Rhiannon.

“I know how to remove a bullet.” Simon responded, “And this one didn’t go deep. We just gotta get it out before we can put a Stimpack in him. Go on.”

“Come on Rook, ‘General.’” MacCready grabbed both women by the elbows and pulled them away, towards the entrance of the cage. As they approached, the ghoul finally got up from his hiding place.

“Is it over? That could’ve gone worse.” The ghoul wore a tattered brown suit and sported a full head of hair… or a wig. Probably a wig.

“Ha! I dunno,” Cait laughed, “Seemed quite the performance from where I was standing.”

“Are you fuckin’ high or something?!” The ghoul turned to the fighter, “Oh, what am I saying… of _course_ you are.”

“Still won the fight, didn’t I?”

“You’re strung out and getting sloppy is what you are.”

“Looked good from where I was standing, Cait,” Lilith interjected.

“You were outside,” MacCready reminded her.

“I know what I said.”

“Well, look who it is.” The ghoul remarked sarcastically as he turned to see them, “Didn’t I kick you out for starting a fight like this one?”

“That’s not how I remember it happening,” Lily said, tone evasive. “Look, we’ve got a job for you, Cait. If you’re interested.”

“A job?” The ghoul stepped forward, “You just put us out of business. I’m not sure if I should kiss you, or have my little bird here feed you your own entrails.”

“I told you to quit calling me that, Tommy!” Cait interjected.

“Sir.” Rhiannon stepped up. “I’m so sorry about this. I didn’t mean to start anything.”

“They weren’t the friendliest bunch, but they kept the lights on…” Tommy grumbled, “Now what am I gonna-”

“Oh, to hell with it!” Cait threw up her hands, “More’ll come! Just need a quick breather, and I’ll be ready to go!”

“A _breather_?” Tommy gave Cait an incredulous glare, “What, so you can slam more of that junk in your arm? No. You know what… I think this was a blessing in disguise.”

“What do you mean?” Rhiannon asked.

“You caught the end of that fight, right? What do you all think of Cait’s work?” Tommy posed a question to the group.

“She was... persistent?” Rhiannon offered weakly.

“She kicked some ass.” MacCready smirked.

“She’s a sight for sore eyes, that’s for sure,” Lily added.

“See! At least _someone_ knows skill when they see it!” Cait nodded to the group.

“It ain’t your fighting skills I’m worried about.” Tommy rolled his eyes, “So. Let me lay this out for you: I suddenly got no audience. No audience means I got no caps coming in. And if I ain’t bringing in caps, little bird, that means you ain’t an _asset_. You’re a _liability_ , to me and to yourself.”

Tommy continued, “So. Here’s what I’m thinking. Why don’t you guys take over her contract? She goes with you, watches your back…”

“Woof!” Dogmeat interrupted as he trotted into the cage with the others, Piper and Simon close behind. Lilith knelt down and immediately began to scratch his sides as he licked her face.

“Look, you’d be doin’ me a favor while I try an’ get the place back in order. What’d’ya say?” Tommy asked.

“You’re just gonna let your best fighter waltz out of here with us?” Lily raised an eyebrow, looking up at the ghoul. “What’s the catch?”

“Yeah, Tommy! Just why the hell‘re you tryin’ to get rid of me?!” Cait demanded.

“Look,” The ghoul sighed, “Truth is… all that junk is making you careless, and I don’t want to be the one doing color commentary when you finally hit the floor.”

“So… we put it to a vote?” MacCready looked at the others.

“Shouldn’t we see what Cait thinks of this?” Rhiannon asked.

“Yeah! Don’t _I_ get a say in any of this?!” The fighter added.

“That ain’t how a contract works.” Tommy replied, “Besides, do you really _want_ to stay here? No audience, no caps, and nobody to talk to but yours truly.”

“Jesus… point taken.” Cait sulked.

“I mean, Lily and I suggested it, so you know our opinions.” MacCready shrugged, “You three can duke it out though.”

“Well, Blue... you said you needed all the help we could get,” Piper said with a shrug. “And she was pretty handy with that bat.”

“Tactically speaking,” Simon adjusted his glasses, “MacCready’s a sniper support kind of guy, so having someone who can get in close would be-”

“ _Nerd_.” Cait coughed into her fist. Simon glared at the Irishwoman.

“Never mind. I’m back on the fence,” He backpedaled.

“I’m not.” Rhiannon did her best to suppress a smile. “Cait, welcome to the team.”

“Good. It’s settled, then.” Tommy reached into his pocket, “Here, take this. It’s the purse from the last fight. Call it an exterminator’s fee.”

“Now, just wait a second!” Cait blinked at Tommy, “What are you gonna do here without me?!”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Tommy replied, “I’ll clean the place up, get it set up right, maybe find a less… bloodsoaked clientele… now, get the hell out of here. You ain’t welcome here anymore, little bird.”

“You’re a real son of a bitch, you know that, Tommy?” Cait snarled.

“You don’t have to tell me.” With that, the ghoul walked away.

“Don’t sweat it, Cait.” Lilith stood back up and gave the woman a gentle punch in the shoulder. “I’m not welcome here, either.”

“Ready to head out?” Simon asked the group, “We’ve gotta hit Park Street Station and get Valentine out of that Vault.”

“No time like the present,” Piper replied with a nod.

“Woof!” Dogmeat licked Cait’s fingers. The fighter attempted to give a disapproving look to the dog, but her eyes betrayed her true thoughts on the matter.

“Let’s go,” Rhiannon agreed, and led her group back out to the street.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How the fuck did we go from a 'My Brother, My Brother, And Me' reference to police violence in less than five lines?


	13. Saturday Night's Alright For Fighting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of serious incidents occur between The Pack and The Harbingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one... 10,000 words! For Swan and me, the Raider chapters seem to come together the best. A lot of events that occurred did so fluidly, and were not originally planned. 
> 
> By the way, if we ever miss tagging a trigger warning, let us know in the comments or in a private message so that we can add them.
> 
> Chapter TW: Sexual Content, Excessive Graphic Violence, Drug Use, Needles
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Elton John.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN**

**SATURDAY NIGHT’S ALRIGHT FOR FIGHTING**

* * *

**January 20th, 2288.**

_“Every time I get high, you wanna cool down! Every time I get hot, you say you wanna come down! You say it's enough, in fact it's too much! Every time I wanna… Get down! Get down! Get down, make love!”_

The distorted vocals and harsh electronic elements of the song that played through the Fizztop Grille’s speakers helped to drown out the moans of pleasure generated by Mags Black as she lay beneath the Overboss. She let out one final scream as her climax timed with the end of the song before falling back to the bed.

“I needed that… wow…” Mags fought to catch her breath as she lay in Caldwell’s bed.

“The feeling is mutual,” The Overboss nodded as he retrieved his guest’s clothing, throwing it to her before beginning to dress himself, “However, I’ve a meeting in thirty minutes, and I need to prepare.”

“Of course. I need to oversee preparations for the open mic event in the Parlor.” Mags replied as she clothed herself, “You will be making an appearance, I presume?”

“I may.” Caldwell responded cryptically as he pulled his signature coat over his shoulders, “We’ll have to see, now won’t we?”

Mags attempted to hide a look of disappointment, “Alright then. We’d be honored to host you nonetheless. See you later, boss.”

“Goodbye, Miss Black.”

As Mags took her leave, Caldwell pulled a cigar case out of his jacket pocket.

“Goliath!”

A moment later, the grey Super Mutant lumbered into the room.

“Let’s see if any of the Doomed are ready for the real world? What do you say?” Caldwell offered a cigar to the monster and took one for himself. As Goliath took the cigar, the Overboss returned the package to his jacket and retrieved a flip lighter.

Goliath held the end of his cigar to the flame, placed it between his lips and waited until he could release a cloud of smoke before he answered.

“If none are ready by now, they will live up to their name. I will _break_ them.”

* * *

It was big, it was loud, and it smelled like shit. That was all that Fontayne could think as he walked into the Bradberton Amphitheater… the domain of the Pack. Rows of caged animals and caged people greeted Fontayne and his fellow Harbingers, Sinead and Moth, as they entered. Ahead of them, a fighting pit was set up, showcasing a battle between a slave and a member of the Pack’s animal army: a ghoulified gorilla. The slave was losing… badly.

The trio of Harbingers entered warily, glancing around at their surroundings. But, they were here under orders; integrate into the other gangs, learn from them, and bring these lessons back to the others. The man trailed behind the women he’d come with, scowling at the odor that hung thick in the air.

“Sinead, this isn’t worth it,” Fontayne complained. “There’s some open mic thing tonight. I’ll bet some of these jerks will be there. We can get all buddy-buddy when we’re not in their territory.”

“I’m sorry,” the woman named Sinead replied, shooting a glare over her shoulder, “Did the Banshee put you in charge of our little band, or did she put me in charge?”

“Technically, she didn’t choose any of us.” Moth, a small, mousy woman, pushed her cracked and oversized glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her voice was soft and a little wavering as she spoke. “But yes, Fontayne, she often puts more trust in Sinead’s judgement than yours.”

Fontayne rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath about how he should have gone with Ghost to the Court of Murder. On the other side of the fighting pit, in a high-backed red lounge chair, a rottweiler on either side, sat a man with a painted face, red hair, and a teal shirt. Around his neck, the fingerbones of Yao Guai made a necklace. He appeared to be in conversation with a Pack member who had approached him.

“Play it cool,” Sinead hissed to her companions, “And at least _pretend_ that I’m in charge.”

As Sinead squared her shoulders and held her chin high, Moth and Fontayne grew stoic and altered their stances as well; Moth no longer hunched and huddled in on herself, and Fontayne ceased cringing away from the cages, both of them moving like soldiers behind their current lead.

“Do you need help finding your place here?” Mason asked the man in the crow mask before him.

“No… no! I can handle it!” The man attempted to sound confident.

“There are _plenty_ of collars in the kennel if you can’t.” The Alpha responded. The crow-masked raider retreated from the foot of his boss’s throne, and stood off to the side to watch the fights. Mason’s dogs snarled at the trio that approached, but remained by their master’s side.

“And a few strays come to my doorstep. Looking for scraps of meat from your betters?” Mason laughed. Fontayne fought the urge to grind his teeth, looking coldly unaffected as he had been painstakingly trained.

“Are you offering?” Sinead asked, her tone aloof. “We will never turn down free food.”

“You’ve got balls, coming into my house like you’re queen shit.” Mason slowly rose from his throne, “I respect that. Tell you what… if you’re feeling lucky, you could jump in the pit. See how you fare against one of the Pack. If you win… there might be something in it for you.”

Behind the group, the audience cheered as the ghoul gorilla pummeled the slave with his own arm. The trio each peered into the pit, their faces betraying nothing. After a moment, they exchanged a look, silently coming to a decision.

“Deal,” Sinead replied as she faced Mason once more.

“Well alright…” Mason smirked, “Hey! Velasco!”

The man in the crow mask turned around, “Yeah, boss?”

“Get in the pit. Show these Harbingers what the Pack is made of.” Mason ordered. Immediately, the masked raider jumped into the pit as a few others led the ghoulrilla back to its cage. The Alpha turned back to the Harbingers, “Fights are to the death. No guns. Last chance to pussy out.”

At ‘no guns,’ Fontayne and Sinead exchanged another glance, his eyes now revealing a hint of worry.

“We’re in,” Moth piped up.

“Then whichever one of you wants to die, get in the pit.”

Moth hopped into the pit before her companions could argue. A few laughs echoed around as the smallest of the three Harbingers, and the bespectacled one at that, made herself the challenger. Velasco pulled an ugly serrated dagger from his back.

“I took this from some Disciple bitch I cut,” He taunted, “I wonder what I’ll take from you?”

Moth drew two long, serrated blades from the sleeves of the oversized coat she wore. “Only one way to find out, friend.”

“Fight!” Mason barked out.

Moth made no move forward. She lined the blades along her arm in the proper fashion and bent her knees, rising onto the soles of her feet. At the edge of the pit, Sinead folded her arms, and Fontayne remained stiff and statuesque.

Velasco took staggered steps from left to right, keeping his hands moving constantly as he sought out a chance to strike. He tilted and bobbed his head around like an owl, trying to focus in on his opponent. Finally, believing he found the Harbinger’s weak point, the crow masked raider made a feinting stab towards her face before making a slash for the thigh.

Moth’s first arm came up to block her head, her second just barely parrying the true strike. Using the arm that had lifted, she moved with incredible speed, and had slashed down and across Velasco’s throat before he could recover from her block, the serrations on her knife slowing his blade as it scraped hers.

The small, bespectacled woman gave the crow-masked man a kick to the stomach and sent his body sprawling. She turned to Mason, and smiled, revealing that her teeth were filed in a similar way to the Banshee’s. “I believe I’ve won.”

The crowd’s cheering came to a tapering halt as the fight ended almost as soon as it had begun. Men and women in painted faces and animal masks turned to their leader.

“Looks like it,” Mason sat back down on his throne, “Thanks for culling a sheep out of a pack of wolves.”

Moth inclined her head in a polite nod and returned her blades to their hidden sheathes. She knelt and took the knife and the mask from Velasco’s body, then climbed from the pit to rejoin her fellow Harbingers.

“And now… it’s time for your reward.” Mason nodded to a group of heavily armored raiders who took positions around the Harbingers. Sinead and Fontayne immediately rested their hands on their guns, and Moth gripped her trophy blade tightly.

Snarling, growling, howling and barking, the armored warriors of the Pack circled the Harbingers. Having seen one of their own fall before them, they knew better than to make any serious strikes, and simply moved around and taunted their prey. Catching a moment where he was off guard, a raider wearing puncturing brass knuckles swung at Fontayne’s head.

The Harbinger barely was able to block the blow, the screws embedded into the fist stabbing into his arm. Fontayne clenched his teeth, barely holding in a scream. In a flash, he pulled out his pistol and fired into the armored man’s gut.

“Stop!” Sinead snapped at him, grabbing his wrist. She turned furious, pale blue eyes on Mason. “One scream, and we bring all of us down on your head. Let us go.”

“You motherfuckin-” The wounded Pack member snarled before pouncing on Fontayne, pummeling him with his brass knuckled fists. Immediately the rest of the encircled raiders jumped into the fray, using bats, tire irons, pipe wrenches, and other bludgeoning weapons to beat the Harbingers into submission.

It took several minutes for the trio to give up the fight, Moth slicing deep gashes into her attackers before her glasses shattered and she could feel a few shards of glass cut her eye. Sinead fired off two shots before her wrist snapped and she dropped her gun, and Fontayne had just begun to let out an echoing scream when a fist to the mouth silenced him.

“Hmm. And it still took seven of my guys to put you three down.” Mason rested his chin on his fist. “But… you’ve still got more to take home with you. Elephant!”

Mason called for a massive raider, wearing a helmet molded in the likeness of the animal that he’d taken his name from. The beast of a man dragged a massive sledgehammer along the ground, painted with many colors and with dried blood.

“Break the small one’s legs.” Mason ordered.

* * *

“What happened?!” Witch demanded, arriving at the amphitheatre with two of the Super Mutants and a handful of raiders just as Sinead and Fontayne stumbled out, the latter cradling Moth to his chest.

Sinead spit out a mouthful of blood and half of one of her teeth. “We went in to make connections, like the Banshee asked. Mason wanted us to fight, so Moth kicked ass. Then his pricks kicked ours.”

“Jesus H.” Witch took a look at Moth, her legs obviously shattered and bloodied, the dented frames of her glasses held loosely in her hands. “Someone get Stitches, now! Have her bring all the stimpacks she can find.”

Three of the Harbingers took off at a dead sprint back for their headquarters as Witch helped Sinead and Fontayne lean against the wall, examining their wounds.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?!” Gage demanded as he stomped over.

“The Pack decided to hunt our people,” Witch shot back, his own voice furious. “I swear to god, the second the Banshee finds out about this-”

“Hey!” Gage turned to the nearest slaves, “You! Get me Brownstone! And you, get the Overboss! Now! We are gonna deal with this. This shit is un- _fucking_ -acceptable, and you bet your ass that Mason’s gonna pay for this.”

“Hey!” Witch had turned back to his people, seeing Fontayne’s head begin to lean to the side. “No, stay with me. Hey! Wake up. Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

“Hang in there, kid,” Gage stepped up to the injured Harbingers, “We’re gonna fix you up, and we’re gonna fix this mess.”

“Mutt!” Witch turned to the smaller mutant that had accompanied him. The frantically energied creature locked eyes with him. “Go get Banshee. Now.”

The mutant nodded and rushed off, as Witch turned back and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus. I’ve never seen one of us this fucked up before.”

“We better get a fucking feast out of this,” Sinead groaned, holding a hand to her side. “Fucking broke my ribs with a fucking wrench.”

“Yo! Who called for the motherfuckin’ doc-tor?!” Mr. Brownstone shouted as he approached the scene with a swagger in his step, “Je-sus, who ate you three and spit ya back out?”

“Brownstone, Med-X, stat.” Gage clapped in the junkie’s face, “You’ve better have brought addictol with you.”

“Bitch, of course I brought some!” Brownstone rolled his eyes and reached into his medical bag for a case, reaching into the case for a syringe. “Who wants to go first?”

“Moth,” Fontayne said weakly, trying to hold out the woman in his arms towards Brownstone. “Her legs...”

“Shit!” Brownstone looked at her legs, “Yeah they are _super_ fuckin’ broke! Bitch needs to see a _real_ doctor!”

“Stitches is-” Witch began, when one of the Harbingers who had rushed off returned with two others in tow. A blond woman with a duffel bag and a large, nasty scar across her face rushed over and dropped down next to the three of them. “-here.”

“Moth?!” The second Harbinger, a taller, broad-shouldered man, tried to get as close as the two medics would let him. “Oh my God, oh my God. What happened to her?!”

“Witch, can you maybe keep your people back while Brownstone and… uhh… ‘Stitches’ do their work?” Gage leaned over to speak to the Harbinger’s second. Witch nodded, and, hoping Gage didn’t see his hands shaking, ushered the others back.

“Witch, what-” the man continued frantically. Witch set a hand on his chest.

“Easy, Vulture. We’re dealing with it. She’ll be fine.”

“There you go…” Brownstone attempted to sound soothing, but his voice sounded more like a sinister hiss as he injected a dose of Med-X into the unconscious raider, “Now you won’t feel jack shit.”

“She’s unconscious, she’s already not feeling anything,” the woman, Stitches, said with a roll of her eyes. She pulled a Stimpack from her bag and injected it into Moth’s arm.

“Hey, the pain might wake ‘er up.” The chem cook shrugged, as he grabbed another dose, “Besides, one dinky lil Stimpack ain’t gonna do shit ‘fer her legs. Alright buddy-boy, you’re next for Med-X!”

“I’m more worried about her eye,” Stitches rebuked, turning Moth’s face towards her. “Kid was already half-blind to begin with.”

“Yeah, there ain’t no fixing that shit. Just get a cool eyepatch like Gage and move on.” Brownstone stuck the needle into Fontayne’s arm, “Feel any better, buddy-boy?”

Fontayne nodded numbly, still watching Stitches examine Moth. “Yeah...”

“A’ight cool. If you feel like you want more, you can always come to me. Or take this addictol, but then I don’t get as much money out of it. But hey, them’s the rules…” Brownstone reluctantly handed off the inhaler to the Harbinger, “Now! Your turn, missy-miss!”

Sinead gratefully held out her arm. “Finally.”

“Gage!”

Attention turned to the Overboss as he stormed towards the scene, a plume of smoke following behind his head as he furiously puffed his cigar, “Why the _fuck_ am I hearing about the Pack attacking Harbingers?! Has Mason lost his fucking mind?!!”

“Overboss!” Gage stood to attention, “I-”

“That animal in there beat three of my people within an inch of their life!” Witch shouted, glad to have a direction for his rage, to no longer feel so helpless.

“Yeah, I can fucking see that, can you give me the goddamn backstory?!” Caldwell glared over at Witch.

“Mutt, I’m coming. Christ, what’s so- Oh my god.” In an instant, the Banshee shoved past Gage and Caldwell, dropping down to her knees beside the doctors and taking Sinead’s face in her hands. “What happened?”

Rounding on Caldwell and their seconds, she repeated in an almost icy, low voice, “What. Happened?”

“I just got here and was asking your boy the same question.” Caldwell responded, turning to Witch, “Don’t keep us waiting. Spit it out!”

Witch glanced at Moira for a moment before answering, his words selected with care. “The Banshee has been hoping to make alliances with the other gangs. To keep infighting like this from occurring. Sinead, Moth, and Fontayne were sent to make peace with the Pack, and Mason ordered them to be beaten.”

“His big one used a fucking sledgehammer on Moth’s legs!” Sinead chimed in. Moira had gone still and quiet, but the sheer fury rolling off of her was nearly palpable.

“What?!” The Harbinger called Vulture shouted, turning to the Overboss. “You can’t let them get away with this shit!”

“Sit the fuck down!” Caldwell turned to Vulture with a shout, before turning back to Sinead, “You. Tell me. Why did Mason sic his dogs on you?”

“He asked us to prove ourselves to him,” Sinead explained. “So he wanted one of us to fight in his pit against one of his boys. He sent in a weak link, and we sent in Moth. She one-shotted the idiot, and he promised us a reward. Well, we walked out of there with two less molars, one less eye, and a few broken ribs.”

Caldwell took a deep breath, quietly seething with the news. “Gage.”

“Yeah, boss?” Gage turned to the Overboss.

“Make sure that these three are taken to Mackenzie, and inform her that I will be paying for all expenses of their care.” He spoke with an unnatural calm, “Banshee, come with me.”

The Banshee pressed a kiss to the top of Sinead’s head as she got to her feet, and turned to Caldwell. Moving to stand chest to chest with him, she stated, low, “I want blood for this.”

“Follow me, and you’ll have it.” Caldwell responded, turning back towards the amphitheatre.

“Take the others home, Witch,” The Banshee ordered. “Then help Gage. And when Moth wakes up tell her I’ll give her an actual reward.”

“Yes, ma’am,” her second replied, glancing towards Gage. Moira turned on her heel and stalked after Caldwell. The Overboss stormed to the gates of Pack territory, throwing them open.

“Mason!” He screamed in rage. Immediately all movement and conversation within the amphitheatre ceased, including the pit fight between a ghoulrilla and a Yao Guai.

“Overboss. For what do I-” Mason called from his throne as Caldwell stormed up to him, backhanding the Alpha across the face.

“Are you trying to burn my house around me?!” He shouted, “There’s _one fucking rule_ to Nuka World: ‘keep the peace.’ And next thing I hear is you fucking called a beating on some Harbingers?!”

Mason glared up at the Overboss, blood on the corner of his mouth. Moira slowly began to follow in Caldwell’s footsteps, her dark eyes darting around and committing the surroundings to memory.

“Where are they?” Caldwell demanded.

“Who?”

“Your fuckin’ goons who carried out the hit!” The Overboss slapped Mason again, “Where are they?!”

Taking a second to reign in his anger, Mason whistled. Seven figures stepped forward, shaking with fear.

“Kneel.” The Overboss commanded. One by one, the armored raiders knelt before their ruler. Drawing his black magnum, Caldwell fired into the first’s head.

“And this!” He fired again, “Will be a lesson! To every Motherfucker! Who fucks with the peace! That I have meticulously maintained!”

Mason visibly flinched as Caldwell punctuated each part of his sentence with a bullet in the head of one of his more powerful warriors. After the sixth bullet was fired, Caldwell slowly reloaded his revolver, locking eyes with Mason as he did.

“And you are damn fuckin’ lucky I don’t bleed _you_ for this. Next time… I _will_.” He snarled at the Alpha before firing one last bullet into the final victim. In the heavy silence, Moira’s scoff was just barely audible.

“You said I would get blood for this,” she spoke up. “You put _your_ foot down, but I am not satisfied.”

“Your Harbingers said that a ‘big one’ broke one of them.” Caldwell glanced over to Moira before turning back to Mason, “Bring me the Elephant.”

Mason glared at the Overboss, hatred and fire burning in his eyes.

“Bring forth the Elephant, or I will sacrifice _you_ to the Harbingers instead.” Caldwell snarled. After a beat, Mason whistled to summon the hulking man in the elephant mask.

“Banshee.” Caldwell looked over to Moira, “You may kill him.”

Moira drew a switchblade, flicking it out and approaching the massive man. The Elephant huffed and snorted underneath his mask, unwilling to lay down his life without a fight.

“Mask off,” the Banshee hissed. “Let me look you in the face.”

After a few moments of heavy breathing from the Elephant, the man removed his mask, revealing a balding man with a thick beard coated in spittle and drool. Moira locked eyes with him for a breath and nodded.

With a roar, the Elephant charged with his giant hammer raised overhead. Much like Moth, the Banshee stayed still until the instant her opponent was upon her. She moved like a radroach, fast and dexterous as she spun to the side and was missed by the hammer. Pouncing onto the Elephant’s arm, Moira stabbed into his shoulder for leverage, hauling herself onto his back. Her free hand twisted into what remained of the Elephant’s hair, tugging his head back. She pulled the knife free and proceeded to plunge it repeatedly into his throat until he finally succumbed to the wounds and collapsed on the ground.

“There had better not be an incident like this again.” Caldwell warned Mason one last time before walking away, his hands behind his back, “Banshee. With me, please.”

Moira looked to Mason, lingering for a moment. As the two raider bosses stared into one another’s eyes, she leaned down and took a bite out of the Elephant’s shoulder, chewing it and swallowing the flesh before finally moving to follow Caldwell from the arena.

“Satisfied?” He asked as two Pack members pushed the gate open for their Overboss.

“I want the bodies sent to the Harbingers. With full bellies, we will all be satisfied.”

“It’ll be done.”

“Good.” Moira wiped the blood from her mouth. “I need to check on my people. Vulture will be in everyone’s way if Witch can’t hold him back.”

Caldwell gave the Banshee a nod.

“I appreciate your aid,” Moira added, as they stepped back out to the street. She moved away without another word to rejoin with the Mutant and a few raiders who had waited for her. Speaking to them, they ushered her off in the direction the wounded had been delivered.

* * *

In a few hours, it was clear that the three Harbingers would recover. Moth’s eye could not be saved, and whether or not she’d walk again was still in question, but they would live, and Sinead and Fontayne would heal. MacKenzie had done all she could for now, and the three were delivered to Brownstone’s clinic to rest.

Moira was pacing the small room where they were recovering, watching her second like a hawk, as Witch spoke quietly to Sinead about what exactly had happened and was warning her to let it slide, that they were repaid. It wasn’t much longer before Moth woke, blinking her remaining eye.

“Ow,” the small woman groaned. From his place by the door, Vulture immediately moved to her side, Moira on his heels.

“Hey! She’s awake!” Brownstone lazily shot up from his seat beside the injured woman’s bed, his eyes wide and bloodshot, “You know what that means? Drugs!”

“Drugs?” Moth asked blearily. “Wait... I can’t see...”

“Shhh…” Brownstone put a finger over her lips, “Just gonna give you a little Med-X to numb you out a lil bit…”

The chem cook quickly drew a needle and plunged it into Moth’s arm. From his seat across the room, Witch watched intently. “There… feel any better? Feel good, feel numb?”

“I... yeah... but, my eye...” Moth lifted a hand to the bandages on the right side of her face.

“Oh yeah, your eye’s fuckin’ gone.” Brownstone shrugged, “Hence why I waited ‘till I got you high before I mentioned.”

“Moth?” Vulture spoke up before she could fully start to react, and the woman turned to him. Clearly the drugs were working fast, for she smiled.

“Hey... I got you something.” Reaching into her jacket, Moth withdrew the crow mask and held it out to him. Vulture stared for a moment, before taking it and then leaning down to kiss her. Moira folded her arms, waiting until he pulled away before she spoke.

“Moth. You’re going to be staying here until they know what’s going to happen with your legs. When you return home, we’ll discuss your... position in the Harbingers.”

The woman nodded meekly. A look of surprise crossed her face as Moira rested a hand on her shoulder, adding, “You did well. I’m proud of you.”

“Th-thank you, Banshee.” Moth replied, looking down at her hands. Moira nodded, and stepped away.

“Witch, let’s go.”

“Wait, shouldn’t we make sure-”

“Too much Med-X in here. You’re coming with me.”

“Med-X? I am fuckin’ _stocked_ up in this bitch!” Brownstone put a hand to his chest in mock shock, “I got so many-”

“Even more reason. Let’s _go_ ,” Moira stressed, pulling her second to his feet by the feathered mantle he wore.

Witch looked like he wanted to protest, but said nothing and followed her out.

“Ohhh shit, right, that guy was on the list!” Brownstone slapped his forehead, turning to the patients, “Y’all ain’t though. Y’all motherfuckers want some fuckin’ Buffout? Jet? Buffjet?”

“Mentats?” Fontayne asked from his bed.

“Fuck yeah, I got Mentats!”

* * *

In an underground antechamber, Caldwell paced before a collection of raiders. Five men and five women stood in a line before their fellows, chosen to be the first wave of agents sent into the Commonwealth.

“Today is a glorious day,” The Overboss addressed the room, “The ten of you have stood above your peers and excelled in all of your lessons. You shall take the first step of our invasion, the first wave of infiltrators to pierce into the Commonwealth. The top four of you will be given free reign to decide how and where to gather your information. The remaining six shall be assigned their destinations.”

Caldwell stopped at one end of the line and held his hand out. Goliath lumbered up to his side, presenting a Chinese officer’s sword with a serrated edge to the Overboss. Taking it, Caldwell tapped either shoulder of the first raider, then drew a slow cut across the side of his head, just below the ear.

“Charon.” Caldwell christened the man, before moving on to the next raider, knighting her in the same way, “Minerva.”

The Overboss continued in the ceremony, renaming, honoring, and cutting each raider in turn, “Reptile. Lakini. Jackdaw. Façade. Reaver. Asonia. Kielbasa. Avarice.”

With this stage of the ceremony complete, Caldwell handed the blade back to Goliath, and addressed the ten agents.

“Blessed are the fornicates!”

“May we bend down to be their whores!” The ten responded in unison.

“Blessed are the rich!”

“May we labour, deliver them more!”

“Blessed are the envious!”

“Bless the slothful, the wrathful, the vain!”

“Blessed are the gluttonous!

“May they feast us to famine and war!”

“What of the pious, the pure of heart, the peaceful?” Caldwell asked them, “What of the meek, the mourning, and the merciful?”

“All doomed!” They shouted back. Behind them, their fellows burst into raucous applause and chanting that echoed around the underground chamber until it deafened them. Caldwell raised a hands and closed it into a fist, immediately silencing the crowd.

“Charon, Minerva, Reptile, and Lakini, you may depart for the Commonwealth immediately and do as you see fit,” Caldwell addressed them, “The remaining six, report to Gage for your assignments. All of you… dismissed.”

As the raiders dispersed, Caldwell turned to leave, Goliath falling in step beside him.

“I have been thinking.”

The Overboss glanced at the Mutant, “A dangerous pastime.”

“I know.” Goliath shrugged, “I think… you like the fair lady.”

“Mags?” Caldwell scoffed, “God, no. No. She’s easy on the eyes, gets my rocks off but-”

“No.” Goliath interrupted, “The fair lady. The Banshee.”

“The Banshee?” Caldwell repeated, “Get the smoke out of your head, Goliath. Just because I’m trying to find a way inside her head-”

“You will learn.” Goliath responded, “You like the fair lady.”

“ _You_ like the ‘fair lady.’” Caldwell retorted.

“Yes. I do. But not the way you do.”

With that final statement, Goliath finally let the conversation die.

* * *

Moira and Witch returned to their headquarters, both feeling like the day had already lasted years. However, assorted functional clocks assured them it was only two or three o’clock in the afternoon.

As they stepped inside, they were immediately met by a cacophony of Harbingers who had not been present asking about the altercation. Feeling an ice pick headache beginning to form, Moira pushed Witch towards the crowd and stepped aside. The second winced, but did his best to field everyone’s questions.

As the Banshee extracted herself from the crowd, she caught the shoulder of one Harbinger at the back, instructing them to go to their injured fellows and keep an eye on them. That done, she dropped into a chair beside the Super Mutants, who had claimed one corner of the base for themselves.

Mutt, the smaller of the five, immediately moved over to Moira and sat on the ground beside her. Glancing over, she gave a tired chuckle and patted his shoulder. “Some day, huh?”

“Banshee,” Jolly spoke up, moving over. He pointed to the door, and Moira followed his gaze to see a familiar figure standing there uncertainly.

Scarlett wrung her hands together, occasionally wiping them on her red feathered dress as she looked over the crowd for the white-haired woman she’d threatened the week before. Finding her, she slowly crossed the room and stood out of the reach of the Banshee.

“Scarlett,” the Banshee greeted coolly. Her other mutants moved to surround her, each of them eyeing the newcomer. “What brings you here to me?”

“An apology.” Scarlett replied quietly, “I was… you were right. I was high, I wouldn’t have… if I… I’m sorry.”

“Well...” Moira’s eyebrow lifted. “What a refreshing surprise.”

“I should… go.” Scarlett began to back away, “I’m sorry-”

“No, make yourself at home,” Moira interjected, her voice surprisingly sincere.

Scarlett blinked, caught completely off guard, “I… okay.”

The woman in red slowly found a chair beside Moira, wrapping her arms around herself as she cast nervous glances at the Super Mutants that surrounded them.

“Doc, be a dear and get some purified water for our guest.” At the Banshee’s words, the only Mutant with no particularly defining features moved away to fulfill her request.

“Th-thank you.” Scarlett stammered, “How… how did you…”

“It’s amazing what a show of strength and a promise to keep the hunger at bay can do for you,” Moira answered. “Most of them came to me at the same time, though.”

“What… what on earth did you do?” Scarlett asked as Doc returned with the can of water. Still nervous in their presence, the Queen of Hearts carefully accepted the water with a tentative smile.

“Banshee protects the small one,” Jolly spoke up in a low rumble. “She shows she is best fighter, and we follow.”

“To get specific,” the Banshee sighed, kicking her feet up onto the armrest of her chair. She set a hand on the shoulder of the smaller mutant. “Mutt was the first one I had my eye on. Witch, a few of our early followers, and I were passing through one of the towns; can’t for the life of me remember which one now. I heard some Super Mutants, and we hid, but passing by, I ended up watching this whole band beating the shit out of one half their size. I stepped up just as they cut out his tongue.

“They all stopped, and I challenged the biggest one to a fight. No guns, just strength. Winner got to keep control of the band. Do you know how to kill a Super Mutant with nothing but a knife, Scarlett?”

“You… go for the neck?” Scarlett stammered out a guess.

“You go for the neck,” Moira agreed with a smirk. It had been the same way she’d killed the Elephant today. “And you don’t stop stabbing until they stop breathing. Anyways, Jolly, and Noose respected the arrangement. I was the strongest, and I was their new leader. The other four... not quite as happy. But Witch figured out I wasn’t there, and they came back for me and we finished the others off. Doc and Grin were a pair of strays we picked up. Promising they’d never go hungry again, and seeing we already had a few of their kind with us was appealing enough to them.”

“Wow.” The Queen of Hearts breathed.

“You just keep them happy. Fed, their blood lust slaked every so often, give them their choice of weapons, and you make sure they respect you, and really, they make good raiders.”

“Wow…” Scarlett repeated, “So… if you don’t mind me asking… what’s with the names?”

Moira laughed a little, glancing over at the five mutants as they watched them. “Well, we had to call them something. Mutt was easy enough. He doesn’t seem... entirely mutant, and he’s more loyal than any dog I’ve ever known. Jolly Roger has his tattoo; saw it on some old comic book apparently. Noose, well... you can see he’s wearing one. Grin’s got that exposed jaw, and Doc... Doc likes to play with his food. Take things apart and pull the guts out slowly.”

“I see.” For someone who ripped out hearts- literally- Scarlett was a little squeamish regarding Doc’s eating habits.

“Would you like to stay for dinner, and actually see?” The Banshee offered, her smile turning a little cruel. “We’re having Pack tonight.”

“I… thank you for the kind offer,” Scarlett attempted to smile, “But I’m going to take food to Uncle Alli- Alestair and eat with him tonight before the open mic at the Parlor.”

“Oh, right...” Moira sighed, glancing over to where Witch was assuaging the fears of a few more persistent Harbingers. “I was going to go to that.”

“We could both go?” Scarlett suggested, “You look like you could use a night out… or, if you don’t mind me saying, a nap.”

“Honestly, that might not be a bad idea.” The Banshee ran her hands through her hair. “It’s been a morning.”

“Wait… the nap or the night out?”

“Yes.”

“Okay… well… if you’d like to come with me to the Parlor, then you can find me in Brownstone’s clinic.” Scarlett rose from her seat, “Thank you for your hospitality, Banshee.”

“Moira. To you, my name is Moira.”

“O-oh. Okay.” Scarlett blinked, somehow caught off guard by the Banshee having something as human as a name. She decided to amend her previous statement, “Well, thank you for your hospitality, _Moira_.”

“Any time, Scarlett. I look forward to watching you and your gang rise.”

* * *

_“Gimmie what you got! I changed my mind, I'll count to three! Gimme what you got! You listenin' to me?”_

RedEye, in a somewhat rare public appearance, played his guitar as he stood before the microphone on the Parlor’s stage. The room had been somewhat transformed to accommodate the evening’s guests, and slaves ran back and forth to deliver drinks to tables.

_“I'm the one with the gun, I don't take shit from anyone! Hell no, we ain't through yet, 'cause, you wanna know a secret?! Even if you give me what you got, ain't no chance you're gonna walk away!”_

“I love you RedEye!” A drunk voice called from the audience.

“Shut the fuck up, Bloodmouth!” RedEye shouted back.

“Okay, give another hand for our illustrious DJ, RedEye!” The announcer called to the audience who broke into drunken applause. The egotistical musician gave a final bow before leaving the building for his radio station, “And next we have…”

“Relax.” Gage clapped Witch on the back, receiving only a glare from the Harbinger that sat beside him.

“It’s a bit hard to _relax_ when three of mine are still in the clinic, and the gang that put them there is hanging around.” Still, some of the tension ebbed from the dark-haired man’s shoulders, and he knocked back his drink.

“Yeah, but they’ll pull through,” Gage shrugged before drinking from his bottle of beer, “And Caldwell publicly executed the guys who did it, so it’s not like the Pack are gonna be dumb enough to pull that shit again.”

“You severely underestimate the stupidity of men with something to prove.”

“Let me rephrase that then,” Gage rolled his eye, “It’s not like _Mason_ is gonna be dumb enough to _allow_ that shit again. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll tighten up the leashes on his dogs.”

“Then let’s hope he knows. Banshee’s good at keeping her temper but if she’d had half the chance after today... There’d be nothing left to find of Mason.”

“That’s not true. I’d leave a warning to his idiot followers.” The third and fourth chairs at the table slid out as Moira and Scarlett took their seats with the two men. “Maybe his head on a pike.”

“Banshee. Scarlett.” Gage greeted the two women with furrowed brows, “Curious to see you enter together after that spat you had just in front of the Fizztop.”

“We’ve made amends,” the Banshee said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Realized the errors of our ways and all that.”

“You’re a handsome one,” Scarlett purred, leaning over the table towards Witch, her chin resting in one of her hands, “I’m not sure we’ve met…”

“My name is Witch,” the Harbinger replied, not missing the smirk that crossed Moira’s face. “And you’re the Queen of Hearts?”

“Mmhmm. I’m Scarlett.” The woman replied, “It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you…”

“Yep. Mmhmm. Likewise.” Witch seemed nervous, and lifted his drink. “Anyways, you just missed RedEye. He’s got pipes.”

“You can hear him literally anytime. On the radio. _Constantly_.” Gage deadpanned.

“Can I get you some drinks?” Scarlett asked Witch, still dreamily gazing at the darker-skinned man, “I’d love to take you home.”

“I’m gay,” Witch said, a bit more abruptly than he’d meant to. Immediately, Scarlett’s face fell a little and she sat back up straighter.

“Bi.”

“Leaving already?” Gage asked with a chuckle.

“No, I mean I’m bisexual.” Scarlett clarified, “Wow, I am _so_ sorry…”

“Huh. Same.” Gage muttered as he took another sip of his beer. Witch’s eyes widened a little and he glanced at the other man.

“Makes three of us,” Moira chuckled, folding her arms and leaning back in her chair. “Funny how we all seem to congregate.”

“Isn’t it just,” Witch agreed, regaining his composure. His chair inched slightly closer to Gage’s.

“What a surprise to see you here…” Mags Black approached the table, “Scarlett, I thought you’d be too busy trying to fuck your way into Kiddie Kingdom to make it this evening. And the Banshee’s here as well! Maybe you can see what a real gang looks like while you’re here?”

“A real gang?” Moira sat up in her seat and looked around. “I wasn’t aware we had those here. All I see are animals and pompous, spoiled brats.”

“Oh, I’m surprised you can see at all through all that mud and shit on your face.” Mags responded with an overly polite smile, “How are those shacks you live in, by the way? Must be drafty… like the space between your inbred ears.”

“Well, one worries less about the cold when she’s not constantly trying to get warm in the Overboss’s bed. Now, I assume you’re here for our drink order? You are so good at... _servicing_ other leaders.”

Mags’ face turned bright red with rage, but before she could open her mouth, Gage stood up from his seat.

“Mags. I suggest you think _very_ carefully about what you are about to say.” He nodded in the direction of the door, where the Overboss was just making his entrance. The boss of the Operators swallowed her anger, and walked away.

“What a bitch,” Witch muttered.

“Hush,” Moira advised. “I don’t care if Mags and I get along, but I want our gangs to keep the peace. We already made one enemy today, let’s not double the count.”

“Again, apologies for that whole situation,” Gage turned to the Banshee, “Mason won’t try a stunt like that again if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Does he know what’s good for him?” Moira asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“Scarlett. Banshee.” Caldwell greeted as he passed by the table, “Curious to see you sharing a table… and with my second, no less.”

“Caldwell,” Moira returned with a nod. “Is it so strange? Scarlett and I have begun to get along quite well, and Witch has been... eager to improve his relationship with Gage since he first arrived.”

“I was… uh… just checking in on the Harbingers after today’s incident.” Gage stood from his seat.

“Very good. Did you deliver my orders to the six?” Caldwell nodded approvingly.

“Yes sir, I did that before I came here.” Gage replied, “They’ve already headed out.”

“Good.” Caldwell folded his arms, “Come with me, there are matters to discuss away from prying ears.”

“Of course.” Gage’s shoulders sank ever so slightly, “Enjoy the evening, Witch, Banshee, Scarlett.”

“Yeah. I’ll catch you later?” Witch said as the women nodded, perhaps a hint too hopefully.

“Yeah,” Gage nodded back before leaving with the Overboss.

“For the second in command of a group that prides itself on subtlety,” the Banshee began, fixing Witch with a withering look, “you are the least subtle person I have ever met.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Scarlett chuckled, “Have you _met_ Brownstone?”

“…Point taken,” Moira conceded, as Witch sank down in his seat slightly. “But Witch has always had a hard time staying level headed around attractive men.”

“Same.” Scarlett sighed.

“ _That_ is where we all differ.” The Banshee rolled her eyes. “As a friend told me recently, desire is a powerful tool to manipulate someone with. The more obvious you make it, the more leverage they gain on you.”

“I’m being called out, aren’t I?” Scarlett winced, “I came out here to have a good time, and I am feeling _so_ attacked right now.”

“It’s not the pair of you, specifically. It’s people in general. Pride, lust, greed, insecurity, hunger, addiction. There are vices we all seek to satisfy, needs that we struggle to meet, and that is how you use people. You make them rely on you to fulfill those needs. Whether you’re actively filling them, or threatening to destroy that which does.”

“As you can tell, Moira loves going out and having fun like this,” Witch said sarcastically. Scarlett burst into a fit of giggles. Moira fixed Witch with a glare, but was clearly fighting a smirk of her own.

“So… how did you two meet?” Scarlett asked, taking a drink from her bottle of wine. The mood between the Harbingers shifted, and they exchanged a look.

“It’s... a long story,” Moira sighed. “He saved my life, I promised to watch his back, and later, I saved his life in return. We were even, but by that point we were pretty much stuck with one another.”

“Oh. Wow.” Scarlett grimaced at herself for accidentally souring the mood, “More drinks?”

“Yes, please,” Witch accepted quickly.

* * *

After a few more hours and plenty of drinks, it was time to leave. Scarlett had drunk far too much, and Witch elected to escort the Queen of Hearts home. Moira stayed behind to catch a few words with one of the few Disciples who had made an appearance that evening, but now found herself heading home.

Bundling her coat more tightly around her, she tried to ignore the winter chill that seemed so much more piercing at night. As she passed under the gate that signalled the end of Operator territory, Moira could see a collection of figures waiting in the dark before her.

“Well. Lookie who is.” A man in an antlered hat slurred, “Issa big fat… mmm… bitch.”

“Good evening, Gentlemen.” There was not even the pretense of politeness in the Banshee’s voice, and she walked past without another glance in their direction.

“You fffuckin’ kill’d t’Ele…” A woman with a deerlike mask spat, grabbing the Banshee’s wrist as she passed by.

Moira yanked her hand back, the other grabbing a hunting knife from inside her coat. “I did. Touch me again and I’ll show you how it felt when I cut out his throat.”

“Touch.” A wiry Pack member with twitchy fingers shoved the Banshee from behind, scurrying around to stay out of knife range.

“Y’ain’t walkin’ outta here alive.” A man wearing the hollowed head of a ghoulrilla as a helmet huffed.

“This is not a fight you want to start,” Moira warned, her other hand drawing her favored switchblade and flicking it open. “It takes more than some ugly mongrels to kill me.”

Mirroring the strategy of the fallen seven, the five raiders begun to circle around Moira. Every so often, one would step forward and make a feint, but quickly duck back out of range. After a moment, the man in the gorilla head wound back with his spiked bat-

Only for it to leave his grasp before he could swing it.

“Evening.” Caldwell growled, “Might I ask… what in the everloving _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

“At this point, I believe I may be important enough to call this an assassination attempt,” Moira spoke up, reluctantly relieved to see the Overboss.

“Yo! If we kill ‘em both, we can blame ‘er for killin’ ‘im!” The wiry one spoke, pointing his disciple-made knife at Caldwell, “Git ‘em!”

“You overestimate your chances.” Caldwell sighed, flipping the bat in his hand. Catching it by the handle, he swung at the closest Pack member, knocking the gorilla helmet off his head as he flew back into Moira’s range.

The Banshee drove the longer knife into the man’s back, and brought her switchblade around to open his throat. As he sunk to the ground, the antlered man rushed in with a fire axe. Moira ducked low, the axe just catching her forearm as she drove her hunting knife into the man’s cheek, and used that to pull him close so she could stab her smaller blade deep into one of his eyes, twisting it as she did until she hit brain matter, and he too stopped moving.

Meanwhile, the ratlike instigator attempted to attack Caldwell. Throwing the bat over his shoulder, Caldwell caught the man’s attempt to stab at him, bending the raider’s arm to drive the dagger into his own neck. The fifth participant, a Pack grunt with a painted face swung at the Overboss with a tire iron that was modified into an axe. After a missed swing, Caldwell delivered a thrust kick to break one of his knees.

Moira hadn’t had the chance to withdraw her blades from the antlered corpse before the woman in the deer mask cracked her across the back of the head with a large wrench. For a moment, the Banshee’s vision went white with pain, and she lost the grip of her weapons, staggering. The woman came around again, and managed to hit Moira in the back. With a sharp cry of pain, the Banshee rounded on her attacker and pounced, all of her careful strikes gone as she clawed and bit at the woman like a feral ghoul, and knocking her to the pavement. The wrench clattered away, just out of reach.

As the Banshee mauled the woman in the deer mask, the ratlike man staggered in her direction, having decided that the knife in his throat was not worth worrying about. He loomed over her, blade raised above his head, until Caldwell grabbed him in a chokehold and snapped his neck with a single quick movement.

The Banshee’s teeth sank into the deer-woman’s throat, her sharpened fangs doing precisely what they were designed for as she tore open the front of the Pack member’s neck, gore spilling over both of them. Moira went in for another few bites, tearing into the woman until she stopped twitching.

As the Banshee and the Overboss panted, their breath visible in the cold air, Caldwell caught sight of the last assassin, desperately crawling across the pavement. The Overboss grabbed the man’s head, set his teeth against the curb, and stomped down until the man was no longer among the living.

Moira slowly dragged herself back to her feet, her head still spinning slightly from the blow, blood dripping from her face and hands, soaked through her clothing.

“You good?” Caldwell asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

“I’m good.” The Banshee moved to pull her blades from where they were still embedded in the face of the fallen Pack member. Caldwell pulled a cigarette out of the pack, placing it between his lips. Then he held the pack out, offering one to Moira.

She hesitated, then tucked away her knives and took a cigarette. The hand that sheathed her hunting knife back within her jacket emerged with her lighter, and she offered the flame to the Overboss. Caldwell pulled the cigarette from his lips to light it.

“What a fuckin’ day.” He sighed, the smoke from his cigarette mixing with the vapor of his breath hitting the cold air.

“You can say that again,” the Banshee mumbled, lighting her own cigarette. “I don’t even smoke.”

“Apparently they give you cancer…” Caldwell nodded in agreement. “There are probably better ways to deal with stress.”

“I think if living around the levels of rads we all deal with on a daily basis hasn’t given us cancer by now, a stick of tobacco probably can’t hurt.”

Standing together in the dim light and the smoke, Moira leaned her head back and sighed out a heavy breath. The blood on her face and hands looked darker under the moonlight, and her eyes were still dilated, fingers trembling from the adrenaline still kicking through her system.

Caldwell was relatively cleaner in appearance but also somehow more savage. Considering he wore sunglasses almost all the time, the fact that his steel eyes were visible in the dim was almost frightening. When the light of his cigarette flared up to illuminate his face, Caldwell looked like the devil himself, full of hatred and hunger.

“The blood makes you look beautiful.” Caldwell finally broke the silence with a plume of smoke. The Banshee’s eyes cut to the Overboss in surprise, and then she laughed, something about the sound borderline cruel.

“And you look like you crawled out of Hell itself, _Boss_.” Again, the title was said in clearly taunting jest.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Caldwell shrugged, exhaling smoke through his nose like a dragon. “Vault 87, Raven Rock, The Pitt, Point Lookout, Old Olney…”

Moira looked down at the bodies that lay around them, kicking one while Caldwell spoke his list. “I’d like these sent home with me. Better food than the shit Mags was trying to sell.”

“Yeah. It’ll be done.” The Overboss nodded, flicking his spent cigarette into the nearby pond. Moira had barely touched hers, but she knelt and put it out in the eye of one of the corpses.

“Good. They want to live like animals, they can die like them, too.”

As she stood up, Caldwell strode to meet her. Standing chest to chest, they locked eyes with each other, studying what little they could see in the dark. After a beat, Moira raised an eyebrow, the same expression she’d given when he’d stabbed her, and then again when he propositioned her.

“Tell me,” Caldwell spoke in a low voice, “What do you want?”

“Mason’s head on a fucking pike.”

“That I can’t give… yet.” Caldwell sighed, “But if you meet me tomorrow morning in front of the market, Mason will answer for this incident.”

“I hope he’ll suffer, at least.”

“To the Alpha of the Pack, Humiliation is worse than death.” The Overboss replied, “What I have planned… he’ll certainly suffer.”

The Banshee grinned, all sharp, bloodied teeth and vengeance.

* * *

**January 21st, 2288.**

Moira arrived in the morning as requested, flanked by Witch, Sinead, Fontayne, Mutt, and Jolly. The two raiders were still bruised and battered, but their eyes burned, and they were eager to be present for the retribution. In front of the Marketplace, Caldwell was already waiting with Gage and Goliath.

“Good morning, Harbingers.” Caldwell greeted them.

“Good morning, Overboss,” Moira replied coolly. Witch nodded to Caldwell, then to Gage.

“Good morning, fair lady.” Goliath greeted the Banshee, before turning to the two Super Mutants, “Abominations.”

“Stupid head,” Jolly growled back. Mutt sighed silently.

“Enough, children.” Caldwell glared at the Mutants, “Come along.”

Jolly spit at Goliath’s feet, but said nothing more, until Moira’s warning, “Jolly,” made him fall back in line.

As the group entered the Bradberton Amphitheater, members of the Pack stopped their morning routines to stare. While clearly enraged by the presence of the Harbingers, the raiders were too intimidated by their Overboss and the three Super Mutants to even spit in their direction.

Seated on his throne, Mason looked past the caged fighting pit and watched them approach.

“Overboss Caldwell. Did you bring them to apologize?”

“Apologize?! Why would _we_ apologize to-” Fontayne started, glaring up at Mason through still bloodshot, swollen eyes. The Banshee snapped her fingers, and in an instant, he, Sinead, and Witch fell still and quiet, shifting into their stoic, soldier-esque stances.

“Tell me, Mason…” Caldwell locked eyes with the Pack Alpha, “Are you aware that five of your Pack attempted to assassinate the Banshee last night, and upon discovering them mid-attempt, turned their weapons on me?”

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Mason responded, staring back. After a moment of searching Mason’s eyes for treason, Caldwell spoke.

“Lucky you… you get to live.” He smirked, “However, if you cannot control your men, then how can I expect you to control your beasts? The punishment for this incident is that the Banshee may pick _any one_ of your beasts for herself-”

“What?!” Mason roared and shot out of his seat, eye wide with rage.

“You fucking heard me, Mason. This is the _second_ incident between the Pack and the Harbingers within _twenty-four hours_ . I thought killing eight of your men would’ve taught you a lesson, but it seems I was incorrect.” Caldwell stood his ground, “You _will_ give the Banshee her choice of one of your beasts, and you will _shut the fuck up_ and accept the punishment I have given you… or I will humiliate you in front of your Pack and kill you!

Mason visibly shrunk back and sunk into his chair once again. “Go then. Get it over with.”

“We will be discussing the price of your men’s little attempt of high treason _privately_ .” Caldwell growled as Mason sulked, “Consider that the _only_ mercy I will give you today.”

With that, Caldwell turned, leading the group towards the Pack’s rows of cages. Moira moved to follow after him, but paused to meet Mason’s eyes. As she did, she smiled wide, showing off every one of her teeth, still stained with the blood of his fallen Pack members.

Aside from slaves and members of the Pack who’d fallen in disfavor, all manner of beasts were on display. Dogs, Molerats, Yao Guai, and more paced their pens. The group watched as a slave, fresh cuts upon his skin, was dragged along the ground and thrown into the cage of Rad-rats… and promptly eaten alive.

“Any beast I want?” Moira asked, peering at a large, scarred Yao Guai that was snarling as they passed by.

“Any single beast.” Caldwell confirmed, continuing to walk at a slow pace for the benefit of the tour group. Moira gave another snap, and her three Harbingers relaxed, their postures returning to normal as they moved to look into the cages curiously.

“They’ve got everything,” Witch remarked, as Sinead gave a low, impressed whistle. The pair were looking in at a Brahmilluff, while Fontayne and Mutt were admiring a cage full of Radscorpions.

Moira seemed less than impressed with the options, however, continuing slowly down the line as she looked in at each and every creature, weighing her options meticulously. She passed by Caldwell, heading towards the larger cages to look within. After a moment, the Banshee came to a dead halt in front of one near the end. Her eyes widened, and she spun back to face the Overboss, pointing in.

“This one. I’m taking this one.”

Caldwell slowly walked up and peered into the cage. Inside was a Deathclaw, glowing with a neon blue light.

“I remember you.” Caldwell remarked to the creature, “You were in the World of Refreshment.”

“Which one are we- holy _shit._ ” Witch had come to join them, and his jaw dropped as he looked at the incandescent Deathclaw. The other Harbingers and Mutants quickly crowded around, each also stunned by what they saw within.

“Open the cage!” Caldwell ordered. Two pack members ran to a control panel, and a moment later, the gate of the cage rose. The Deathclaw slowly approached the entrance, sniffing the air and flicking out its tongue. The Overboss held out his hand for it, “Ho… ho now, boy… It’s alright.”

“Do _we_ need a cage?” Sinead asked, taking a step back as the Deathclaw began to emerge. “I feel like we’ll need a cage. We should get a cage.”

The Deathclaw began to emerge, following Caldwell’s hand until it’s nose touched his palm, “Now. Banshee. Put your hand beside mine. If you fuck this up, he _will_ eat you.”

The Banshee moved slowly, but without hesitation. Witch’s breath had caught in his throat, and Fontayne and Sinead had put Jolly between them and the cage. Moira’s hand finally moved next to Caldwell’s.

“Now. I’m going to move my hand away. You move your hand to where mine was. Lock eyes with him and don’t blink. _Don’t_ blink. Blink, and you’re dead.”

“Okay.” Moira spoke softly, unafraid. As Caldwell slowly moved his hand along the Deathclaw’s muzzle, Moira’s hand moved in tandem to take its place. Once it was, The Overboss gently placed his hand over her’s.

“This is your new mother,” He said to the reptile, “Obey her. Protect her.”

Moira met the creature’s gaze, her breathing soft and her eyes steady, unblinking. Finally, after a few moments, the Deathclaw slowly blinked. Caldwell pulled his hand away.

“He’s yours now.”

“I’m sorry, _how the fuck did you do that_?” Gage asked, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Beside him, Witch’s knees buckled slightly, and he caught himself on Gage’s armor.

“I’ve learned to whisper to the Wasteland.” The Overboss responded before turning to Moira, “So… what are you naming your new son?”

“A good question,” the Banshee mused, running her hand along the creature’s snout. “…Volos. I think it could suit him, perhaps.”

“A… curious choice,” Gage coughed into his fist, “But as long as he… uhhh… follows the rules…”

“What Gage is trying to say,” Caldwell interrupted, “Is that if you don’t teach Volos to follow the rules, we will have to put him down.”

“Understood,” Moira replied. She was now running her hands along Volos’ horns, a look of admiration and downright affection on her face. “I think we can keep him in line.”

Volos exhaled through his nostrils, hot air blowing the Banshee’s hair back. Then he licked her face. Witch let out a small sound of worry, but Moira laughed.

“What the fuck?!” Mason shouted as he approached, shoving past anyone standing between him and the Overboss, “You can’t-”

“Mason.” Caldwell snarled, grabbing the Pack Alpha by the neck and pushing him down to his knees, “You will _obey_ like a good dog, or I will _put you down_.”

“I could put you on a leash if you prefer, Mason,” the Banshee remarked, patting Volos on the side.

“Just… get out of here, you bitch.” Mason hissed through his teeth as Caldwell pushed him to the ground. Goliath lumbered over and knelt down to the Pack Alpha’s level.

“Do you know what Zeus said to Narcissus?” He growled, “‘You’d better watch yourself.’”

With that, Caldwell walked towards the exit, hands behind his back. Goliath and Gage followed just behind, and the Harbingers and Deathclaw followed on their heels. As Mason got back to his feet, watching the Harbingers take one of his proudest beasts away, Fontayne trailed a few steps behind. Turning and walking backwards, he faced the Alpha, raised both hands, and then both middle fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song played in the beginning of the chapter is the Nine Inch Nails cover of "Get Down, Make Love" by Queen.
> 
> {If you're wondering, the answer is yes. I actually am Extra™ enough and I have named all 57 individual Harbingers. ~Swan}
> 
> Also, if you're into prophetic naming, this is what Volos means:
> 
> "Slavic name derived from the word volu, meaning 'ox.' In mythology, this is the name of a god of the earth, underworld, dragons, cattle, magic and trickery. He is an enemy of Perun and is described as being horned and serpentine."


	14. My Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and company delve into Vault 114 to rescue Nick Valentine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Paul McCartney.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN**

**MY VALENTINE**

* * *

**January 14th, 2288.**

“So are we even gettin’ paid for this shite?” Cait asked as the group stepped out into the rainy street.

“Oh right, you missed the backstory dump last night.” MacCready sighed.

“Here’s what you need to know for now,” Simon said, walking backwards to face Cait as the group proceeded to the Boston Commons, “Rhiannon is the general of the Minutemen, and currently searching for her less-than-one-year-old son Shaun, who was kidnapped. In order to do that, we have to rescue Nick Valentine from the Triggermen, who’ve holed up in Park Street Station. The rest, Rhiannon can tell you when she’s ready.”

“Jesus…” Cait cursed quietly, her face softening for but a moment, “But that doesn’t answer-”

“You’ll get paid _something_ for your trouble, Cait.” Rhiannon sighed as they reached the entrance to the metro station. “MacCready and Lily cleaned Simon and I out, but I promise I’ll find some way to pay you.”

“Hope you’re the type to keep yer promises, then.” Cait crossed her arms.

“She seems like a stand up gal,” Lilith vouched, her bat across her shoulders as they went. “Anyways, how good are y’all at being... subtle with your approach?”

“Define ‘subtle.’” Simon spared a glance towards Rhiannon’s shotgun, “Because none of us have silencers on our weapons.”

“No, but if we slip in there and get the jump on these assholes, we won’t need ‘em,” Lily clarified. “Go in quiet, don’t get filled with lead the second we walk in the door, and we get to shoot first. Are y’all _sneaky_?”

“I am.” Piper nodded.

“I can be.” Simon shrugged.

“You know my skills, Lil.” MacCready punched her arm.

“I’d _like_ to think so…” Rhiannon grimaced.

“Why bother when we can just rush ‘em?” Cait complained as the group huddled at the top of the stairs.

“I mean, yeah, but no.” Lilith winced. “Besides, we creep on in, and we have more of a chance to look for shit to take out wth us.”

“Fine.” Cait huffed, “But when they see us an’ we get shot t’death, I blame you.”

“Can you just... _try_ being a little more... positive about my ideas?” Lilith suggested.

“Okay.” Cait deadpanned, “I’m _positive_ that we’re all gonna die.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes…” Simon sighed, “Let’s just… _try_ the stealthy shit.”

“Yer funeral.” Cait grumbled. However she moved low with the group as the descended the stairs that led into the underground.

Lilith took point, dropping into a low crouch as they hit the bottom of the stairs and crept forward.

“I’m tellin’ ya… joinin’ Skinny Malone’s crew was the best decision we’ve ever made,” A ghoul in a blue suit with a matching fedora was saying to one of his fellows, “Just look at this place!”

“What’s the marching order?” MacCready whispered in Lilith’s ear, “How do we want to do this?”

“Cait and Piper should probably follow me,” Lilith whispered back. “Piper’s quiet, and we want Cait on the frontline, but I should probably be point. You in back, since you’re ranged, and put the cute ones in the middle.”

“I- the what?” Simon asked.

“You heard me.”

“Who’s there?!” The ghoulish voice called out from the other room.

“Oh, fuck this!” Cait growled, grabbing the double barreled shotgun from Rhiannon and walking out into the open, “Hey, ugly!”

The mobster ghoul didn’t have a chance to retort before Cait opened fire, erasing his head from his body. The three remaining Triggermen all turned from their assorted business, raising a baseball bat and two submachine guns between them.

“Oh, fuck me running,” Lilith sighed, drawing her pipe pistol and breaking cover. She fired two shots into the first man with a submachine gun, turning to the second as he crumpled.

“That’s not physically-” Simon attempted to interject.

“Not. The. Time.” Piper snapped at the mechanic as she found cover behind a pillar to fire at the second man with a tommy gun, forcing him into cover.

“Fuck right off!” Cait yelled at the man with the baseball bat, bashing him in the face with the stock of her shotgun before he could finish his swing. The Irishwoman followed the strike with her second shot, tearing the man’s unarmored chest to pieces.

After a beat in which Rhiannon had to process that her gun had just been ripped out of her hands, she drew her hunting rifle and fired a shot at the last gunman, missing wildly.

“Goddammit Rhiannon,” Simon cursed, looking over at the stubby little hunting rifle, “Don’t use that piece of shit until I fix it!”

“Stop arguing!” Piper rolled her eyes before firing a shot between the last gunman’s eyes as he popped up from behind cover to fire at them.

“We’re clear.” MacCready said after surveying the room for a moment.

“Really?” Lilith rounded on Cait. “We would’ve been just fine if we sat quiet for a hot second!”

“ _Or_ ,” Cait stood chest to chest with the other woman, “They would’ve seen us, an’ had the jump on us!”

“We’d have been waiting for ‘em!” Lilith argued back. Dogmeat barked at the pair, clearly unhappy that his companions were fighting amongst themselves.

“Look, what’s done is done,” Rhiannon interrupted, gently pushing the other two women apart. “We’re all fine. Let’s just keep going.”

“Fine,” Lilith conceded. She reloaded the pistol in her hands and headed forward.

The group pushed through the turnstiles and headed deeper into the subway. Near the top of the second flight of stairs, Simon rushed forward and pushed everyone backwards.

“Bomb.” He hissed, pointing at the wall where a makeshift explosive was rigged. Below it, a tripwire.

“Je-sus. Good eye, sugar,” Lilith holstered her gun and reached into a pouch on her belt. “Everyone back up, I got this.”

“Tripwire or bomb?” Simon asked, shuffling to the side as everyone else shrunk back around the corner.

“Uh huh.” Lily was no longer really listening, pulling out a package of bobby pins and a few other assorted tools as she carefully began to take apart the trap. After a few seconds, the bomb came apart in her hands, and the tripwire went slack.

“Trap’s clear.” Simon whispered back to the group. MacCready pushed forward, using the scope on his rifle to survey the area ahead.

“Quite a few guys here.” He narrated as he looked around, “A couple of train cars, so lots of cover for them. This side is pretty open, except for those pillars, a few Nuka Cola machines, and the tracks. This stairwell could be a good choke point, but I don’t think they’re _all_ stupid enough to fall for that.”

“Maybe if we fan out, try being quiet...” Piper murmured thoughtfully.

“Oh, not _that_ shite again!” Cait growled, “Look at how well it turned out the first time!”

“There are more of them now,” Rhiannon said calmly.

“You wanna go out there and get shot full of holes, be my guest,” Lilith added.

“I don’t like the idea of being spread out and caught off guard.” Simon raised his hand meekly, “If we’re going to ‘fan out’ then we’d better do it in pairs.”

“I’m more help back here.” MacCready glanced away from his scope for a moment.

“I’ll go with Simon,” Rhiannon offered. “Piper and Cait, and Lily and Dogmeat?”

“I think I can handle that.” Lilith nodded, patting the dog on the back.

“We’ll head out last.” Piper suggested, “Maybe we can be the distraction, lure them out?”

“Beats sneakin’ around.” Cait shrugged, reloading the shotgun she’d taken from Rhiannon.

“Okay. Let’s go then.” Rhiannon nodded to Simon.

Lily and Dogmeat crept down the stairs first, ducking from cover to cover as they made their way around a train car on the left. Rhiannon and Simon moved next, going straight from the foot of the stairs, but ducking low as they followed the far end of the room.

“Do we have to wear these suits?” A triggerman was saying to his fellow as Rhiannon and Simon passed underneath him in the track, “I mean, my fuckin’ pants don’t fit. And we ain’t got no fuckin’ tailor in here.”

“Oh quit bitchin’ and grow a pair,” His comrade spat, unknowingly hitting Simon in the face, “Just find a suit that fits.”

While Simon bristled behind her, Rhiannon switched to her pistol and lined up her gun with the first man’s head. Across the room, Lilith had also found a target.

“Go, now!” MacCready whispered to Cait and Piper. The pair sauntered down the stairs, the reporter whistling to catch the Triggermen’s attentions.

“Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences. Do any of you have time for an interview?”

“Waste her!” A ghoul called from the back of the room. Before anyone could move, five gunshots rang out in quick succession, and five men crumpled, as Rhiannon, Simon, Lily, MacCready, and Cait all took their shots.

“Oh _shit_!” The final Triggerman gasped, grabbing the submachine gun from one of his fallen brothers and firing towards the closest assailants.

Lilith, the nearest, ducked back down behind the train she’d posted behind, as Dogmeat rushed around from behind. The German Shepherd leaped up and onto the man’s back, knocking him to the floor and tearing into his neck.

“Good boy.” Simon congratulated the dog as he attempted to clean his face.

“That worked pretty well,” Rhiannon said as she stood. Dusting off her pants, she joined the others in the middle of the room. “But I don’t think it’ll work twice.”

“We got lucky.” Cait agreed, cracking open the shotgun and sliding in a pair of shells.

“Echo’s pretty damn bad, too,” Lily observed. “They might’ve heard us in the other room.”

Simon jogged up to a wall and peered around it. After a few moments he turned back to the group, “Nah. They may’ve just written it off as some hallucination or something.”

“We should keep moving.” MacCready said as he approached.

“Yeah, let’s not drag our feet,” Rhiannon agreed.

Pushing through the tunnels, the group came across some kind of long abandoned construction yard, a Vault door on the far side. Rhiannon felt a sense of unease as she stared at the coglike door, but Simon’s hand on her back anchored her to the moment.

“You good?” The mechanic asked her quietly. She nodded.

“I’m good.”

“Up ahead,” MacCready pointed, “Three ass- Triggermen.”

“Just say ‘fuck,’ MacCready,” Cait mumbled. “You’ll feel better.”

“I made a promise to someone.” MacCready glared over at her.

“Whatever. Let’s just take those three Triggermen down and crack that Vault open like a cold one.” Cait grumbled. Rhiannon’s shoulders visibly tensed.

“Hey, MacCready!” Simon attempted to shift the conversation, “Why don’t you find a good spot to shoot from?”

“There’s good.” MacCready pointed to the nearby pillars, “Honestly, we can just rush ‘em-”

“ _Finally_.” Cait sighed.

“But…” MacCready continued, “We have to get into position first and wait on me to fire the first shot.”

“Just fire fast, Cready.” Lily slapped him on the shoulder.

The company split apart, Dogmeat going with MacCready as backup. After a few moments, everyone was in place.

“So I looks her dead in the eye, and I says to her,” One Triggerman was saying to his fellow, “Bitch-”

“But you said that.” The other cut his friend off before he could continue, “You called her a bitch?”

“...Yeah?” The first one replied just before his head exploded.

“Jesus Christ! Sandra, I was on your side!” The Triggerman panicked, throwing his hands into the air.

“You stupid fuck, we’re under-”

Another gunshot rang out as Rhiannon took the next shot, hitting the third Triggerman in the gut, her next bullet finding his neck. Piper and Simon fired upon the second one in tandem, their bullets finding their marks across his chest and one in his head.

Lilith made her way to the Vault door, looking at the panel before sighing. “Well, hell. Rhiannon, I need your wrist.”

“Simon has a Pip-Boy too.” Rhiannon replied, blankly staring at the Vault door.

“Alrighty then. Sugar, come here and let me plug you in.”

“I… I…” Simon stammered before MacCready shoved him towards Lily.

“You know, I don’t bite,” Lily said as she took Simon’s arm and pulled the plug from his Pip-boy. Sticking it into the panel, she winked, and added, “Unless you like that kinda thing.”

“Okay, give the poor boy a break.” Piper rolled her eyes, “Preferably _before_ he short-circuits.”

“Wait… is he a Synth?” Cait raised an eyebrow.

“No!” Rhiannon, Piper, and Simon all shouted in unison.

“I was just making a joke!” Piper added.

“So was I,” Lily chimed in. “Unless you’re into it, sugar.”

Before Simon could respond, she hit the button on the panel and the mechanisms of the door hissed to life. She gave him another wink and a slap on the ass as she walked back to the others.

“Ouch! Fuckin’ shit…” The mechanic nearly jumped out of his skin, but calmed down when Rhiannon set a hand on his shoulder.

“Okay everyone, line up and get ready.” MacCready called over the noise, “Who knows what’s on the other side.”

The rifleman was flanked immediately by Cait and Piper, Lily to the reporter’s side with Dogmeat. Simon and Rhiannon joined them, standing on the opposite end of the line. As the door pulled away and the catwalk shifted into place, they could hear a voice on the other side.

“Holy fuck, why’s that thing gotta be so fuckin’ loud?!” A Triggerman in a white pinstripe suit walked into the lobby, “Hello? Skinny? Darla?”

“If it were Skinny and Darla, you’d’ve seen ‘em by now!” A ghoul with a baseball bat walked behind the first, “We’ve been had!”

MacCready fired the first shot, hitting the man in the white suit in the arm as he turned to reply to his ghoulish friend.

“Ah! Fuck!” He shouted, pointing to the door, “Shoot ‘em!”

The ghoul pulled out a submachine gun and sprayed bullets at the intruders while the man in white took cover and fired with a 10mm pistol.

Dogmeat rushed into the room while the others did their best to dive into cover. His barks turned to snarls, and the more sporadic gunshots ceased. A moment later, the heavier spray also stopped as the machine gun ran out of ammunition.

“Shit! I’ll fucking kill you, you stupid mutt!” The ghoul shouted as Dogmeat turned and yanked at his leg. Lilith holstered her pipe pistol and hefted her bat, rushing into the room and bringing the wood and crooked nails down onto the ghoul’s head, several times.

“Like hell, you will.” She kicked at the twitching corpse.

“Damn,” Cait gave an impressed whistle, “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I don’t carry Alice around ‘cause she’s pretty,” Lilith scoffed, resting the bat on her shoulder.

“You name your weapons?” Piper asked.

“You don’t?” MacCready raised an eyebrow, holding up his hunting rifle, “I call this baby ‘Bad News.’”

“Ol’ Rusty.” Simon raised his pipe revolver.

“Mercy,” Lily added, patting her pistol.

“Huh. I haven’t even thought about what to name mine.” Cait raised an eyebrow.

“Technically that’s... that’s my gun,” Rhiannon reminded her.

“Well, you said you don’t have the caps to pay me.” Cait shrugged, “If it’s all the same, I’ll take this instead.”

“…Yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” Rhiannon sighed.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find a great combat shotgun for you down the line.” Simon pat Rhiannon on the shoulder, “Or… whatever gun fits your style.”

“This conversation is nice and all, but aren’t we supposed to be rescuing Nick Valentine?” Piper asked, pointing to the doorway the two Triggermen had come through.

“Right. Let’s keep moving.” Rhiannon began to head forward, then paused. She reached down and lifted the submachine gun and the few cartridges of bullets the ghoul had been carrying with him.

“Remember to mind the recoil with that.” Simon said as he fell in beside Rhiannon.

The group continued down a couple flights of stairs, eventually coming to a wide hallway. Hearing voices, Lilith put her arms out to stop the line.

“So I got a question…” One Triggerman was saying, “Why the hell would anyone build a Vault out of a subway station? This place is like… the opposite of secure.”

“Because they were never planning on finishing it, ya moron!” A ghoul’s voice responded, “We used to run this kind of con before the war…”

“For what boils down to a raider gang, the Triggermen sure are good with bringing ghouls into their ranks.” Simon whispered.

“Everyone’s got a gimmick,” Lilith replied quietly. “I knew a gang once where they liked to paint up their faces and wear animal masks. These guys must like ghouls. Or visa versa.”

“Maybe they appreciate their Pre-War knowledge,” Piper commented, “Some of those ghouls were doing the ‘gangster’ thing before the war.”

“That could be,” Rhiannon agreed. She remembered following a few stories of the mobsters in Boston and New York, and the time one had even been represented by her law firm.

“Well, whatever the reason, let’s finish putting ‘em down,” Cait interjected.

“Yeah.” Simon nodded, “Piper, you and I take the one on the left. Lilith, MacCready, aim on the right. Rhiannon and Cait… well, pick whichever one you like less?”

“You got it, sugar.” Lily drew her pipe pistol, checking to make sure it was fully loaded.

“On ‘three.’” MacCready whispered to the group, “Ready?”

Cait fired her shotgun at the one on the left, taking his leg out below the knee.

“I said ‘on three!’” MacCready turned on Cait.

“Too late now!” Simon opened fire on the ghoul, most of his shots missing.

“You punk-ass bitches!” The ghoul shouted as he lifted his submachine gun and prepared to fire, only for Dogmeat to rush in and pull the gun out of his hands. “Hey!”

Once Dogmeat was clear, Piper and Rhiannon fired upon the ghoul, finishing the job.

“Holy shit, these guns are awesome,” Rhiannon laughed, holding up the submachine gun she’d looted.

“Focus!” Lilith reminded her, taking two clean shots to the head of the ghoul Simon had missed, just to be certain.

“You… you fuckers!” The Triggerman with the missing foot cursed at them as he tried to prop himself up and fire with his tommy gun. With two quick shots, MacCready and Lilith each put a bullet in each of his eyes.

“Rough start, but it worked out.” Simon shrugged.

“You really _do_ waste a lot of ammo, sugar.” Lilith cast him a quick, but disapproving look.

“Well excuse me, but not all of us can be crackshots.” Simon glared at the underdressed mercenary.

“Practice makes perfect,” she replied with a shrug.

“Alright, you two…” Piper rolled her eyes, “Let’s move on.”

“You know,” MacCready remarked as the group moved forward, “Heading deeper and deeper into a place like this, getting into shootout after shootout... I ran with a ghoul once who called this kind of thing a ‘dungeon crawl.’ I hate dungeon crawls.”

“Same,” Simon sighed.

“Big mood,” Lily added.

“Woof!” Dogmeat chimed in.

Behind the door at the end of the hallway, a series of catwalks connected the unfinished sections of the Vault. As soon as they stepped out of the doorway, a voice called from the far end of the room.

“Hey! Waste those fuckers!”

“Sh- shoot!” MacCready took cover on the concrete wall that supported the Vault, “Just run! I’ll cover you!”

“Are you-” Lilith started, only to be shoved forward with the others.

“Move, dammit!” Cait shouted as she led the pack, racing around the catwalks to get face to face with the wave of Triggermen that came from the other direction to meet them.

Lilith drew her bat, swinging it and catching the nearest gang member in the face, sending him over the railing. Cait fired her shotgun at the next, the force of the shot shattering the bat in his hands and sending him over the railing as well.

“Fuck! Shit! Fuck!” Simon cursed as he found cover and fired towards the far end of the room where a pair of Triggermen were spraying bullets at MacCready. Again, his shots went wide.

“Aw, hell.” Dropping the bat, Lily moved up behind Simon, grabbing his elbows. Holding his arms, she pressed her cheek to his and moved his arm, adjusting his aim until a series of bullets put both men down.

“Uh…” Simon’s hands shook even more as his face turned bright red, “Thanks?”

“Don’t mention it.” Lily clapped him on both shoulders, and for good measure pressed a kiss to his cheek. She drew her own pistol, scooting about a foot away, and firing into the men who remained.

“Watch it!” MacCready called, firing a shot at a man in suspenders and slacks who was sneaking up on Cait and Rhiannon as they pushed towards the next section of the Vault. The bullet caught the man in the chest, and Cait spun on her heel mid-sprint to finish him off.

“Come on!” Somehow, Piper had weaved her way to the other side of the room, and was shooting into the couple of Triggermen that approached her. “Pick up that pace, Blue!”

In the room at the end, only a pair of Triggermen remained. Rhiannon fired a spray of bullets that pierced one of the men while the other managed to save himself behind a concrete pillar.

“Crazy bitch!” He cursed at her, blindly firing a 10mm pistol around the corner.

Rhiannon barely twisted to the side in time to be missed by the bullet, only to hear a cry of pain behind her. Lilith had taken a position a little ways behind her, gun raised, and had taken the shot in her forearm, her own bullet hitting the ceiling as her arm jerked.

“Son of a bitch!” Simon shouted, witnessing this from further back. Running past Rhiannon and Lilith, the mechanic rushed the last Triggerman, tackling him into a set of lockers.

“Shit! Balls! Hell!” Lily cursed, dropping the gun and clutching the wound on her arm. “Fucking Christ dammit!”

As Simon wrestled with the Triggerman, Cait rushed into the room, dropping the double barreled shotgun and kicking the triggerman’s head like a soccer ball. While he was dazed, Simon pushed away and fired his revolver into the man three times.

“Clear?” MacCready asked as he joined them with Dogmeat.

“Yeah, but Lily’s hit,” Rhiannon said, hurrying to the female mercenary.

“Shit. I’ve got a Stimpack.” Piper joined Rhiannon at Lilith’s side, gently taking the wounded woman’s arm.

“I got big ass tweezers,” Lily said through clenched teeth. “In the pouch, leather strap on my right hip, third from the left. Get the bullet out first.”

“Or…” Simon pulled out his pliers, “We could use mine.”

“Yeah, whatever, sugar. This hurts like hell, so whatever’s faster.”

“I’m gonna check out this hole.” MacCready pointed to an unfinished section of the floor. Peering down, a spray of bullets shot upwards and nearly took the merc’s hat off.

“Yeah! Good luck gettin’ down here, you fucksticks!” A raspy voice called from below.

“Eat shit!”

“Great. More new friends,” Piper sighed.

“I got something for that, but I gotta play doctor first.” Simon sighed as he clicked his pliers together twice.

“Hurry the fuck up! I’m bleedin’ everywhere!”

“Don’t be such a baby. It’s just a flesh wound.” Simon rolled his eyes, “Now… hold still.”

After a few minutes, with Cait risking her neck more than once to try and fire back at the Triggermen in the hole, Simon finally removed the bullet. Lilith released a breath through her teeth, eyes shutting tightly.

“Shit, shit, shit. Don’t tell me not to be a baby, it hurts!”

“Hey Piper, can you give her your Stimpack? I gotta kill the ones in the hole.” Simon sauntered over to the edge of the floor.

“And how are you gonna-”

Simon pulled a grenade from his back pocket. Pulling the pin and locking eyes with Piper, he casually tossed it over his shoulder.

“Hey what’s th-”

“What the fuc-”

_BOOM!_

The floor shook from the force of the explosion, the blast knocking the hat off of Simon’s head. Without a word, the mechanic bent down to retrieve his headwear.

“And you just… had a _grenade_ this _whole time_?!” Rhiannon nearly screeched.

“Yeah.” Simon shrugged.

“…Alright, he’s hot again,” Lilith said, grabbing the stimpack from Piper and injecting it into her arm.

“Let’s go.” Cait jerked her head towards the hole, carefully jumping down. One by one, the others followed, MacCready staying behind with Lilith until she was ready to jump.

Rhiannon landed lightly, looking around at their new surroundings. It appeared to be either a storage room or an office… it was hard to tell with an unfinished Vault, and would be even harder to tell now that a bomb had gone off in the room.

“I’m taking this.” Simon said, shoving an old telephone into his bag.

“Good scrap,” Lilith appraised as she landed.

“Come on, you vultures,” MacCready said, giving Lilith a light shove ahead of him. Following the hallway and passing through another door, the group found themselves in some kind of atrium. On the lowest floor, they could see cafeteria tables. But on the highest floor, across from them…

“How ya doin’ in there Valentine?” A man in a black vest and matching slacks leaned against a round window, “Feelin’ hungry? You want a snack?!”

“Yeah, keep talkin’ Dino!” A faint voice retorted, “It’ll give Skinny Malone more time to think about how he’s gonna bump you off!”

“Can you get a shot from here?” Rhiannon whispered to MacCready.

“Damn right I can.” MacCready raised his rifle and inhaled, holding the breath as he aimed. After a moment, he pulled the trigger and Dino’s head exploded.

“Let’s move! Quickly!” Piper urged them all forward, “Nicky’s in there!”

The party rushed in and around to the window, now coated in gore. As they came to a halt, Lilith moved to the terminal on the wall, her fingers hitting the keys rapidly.

“Hey, you!” Nick called from the other side of the window, “I don’t know who you are, but we’ve got about three minutes before they realize Mr. Muscles-For-Brains there ain’t coming back! Get this door open!”

“Three, two, aaaand-” Lily hit a final key, before the terminal gave two disapproving beeps. “Shit no, hang on.”

“Lil.” MacCready sighed, passing her a slip of paper, “The password was on his corpse.”

“Thanks, Cread.” She took the paper and typed in the passcode.

* * *

**\--- --- --- --- ---**

 

**~Welcome to RobCo Industries™ Termlink~**

 

Greetings, Vault Citizen. Please take a number.

 

>Take Number

 

>Override Door Controls

 

**\--- --- --- --- ---**

* * *

 

“Oooh, take a number!” MacCready joked, pointing at the screen. Lilith looked him dead in the eye, and selected the option to take a number. A paper ticket with the number “111” printed out of a nearby machine. Without breaking eye contact, Lilith offered it to her partner.

MacCready looked down at the ticket and passed it back to Rhiannon. Lilith turned back to the terminal, and after another few taps on the keyboard, the door slid open.

“Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel in distress scenario…” Nick Valentine drawled, pulling a cigarette from out of his trenchcoat and lighting it. As the end of the cigarette flared, it illuminated Valentine’s features. Or, rather, what was left of them. The hand that held the smoke was entirely mechanical, and scraps of what looked like flesh were stretched over exposed mechanism and wiring. Two intense, luminescent yellow eyes fixed on Rhiannon’s face, as she was the first in the room. “Question is, why did our plucky adventurers risk life and limb for an old private eye?”

“W-what... _are you_?” Rhiannon gasped, before she could contain herself. Behind her, Piper’s palm hit her forehead audibly.

“I _told_ you, I’m a detective!” Nick repeated indignantly, “Look, I know the skin and metal parts ain’t exactly comforting, but it’s not important right now. The only thing that matters is why you went through all this trouble to cut me loose.”

“Rhiannon. Short version,” Piper grabbed her arm, “Yes. Nick’s a Synth, some kind of prototype. He’s definitely one of the good guys. You can trust him.”

“A Synth?” Lilith’s head popped around the others that remained crowded in the doorway. Once she caught sight of him, her eyes widened. “Yeesh. No kidding.”

“We’re looking for someone,” Simon interrupted, seeing that Rhiannon was still taken aback, “We don’t know _who_ exactly took them, or how long it’s been, but it’s _very important_ we find them.”

“Well, I’ve done jobs with less.” Nick shrugged, “Somehow the words ‘nice’ and ‘simple’ rarely make it to the menu in my world.”

“What are you doing locked up, Nicky?” Piper asked, “Heard you were looking for some girl Skinny Malone kidnapped?”

“Well, it turns out she wasn’t kidnapped, she’s Skinny Malone’s new flame… and she’s got a real mean streak.” The Synth Detective took a drag from the cigarette, “Anyway, you got troubles, and I’ll be glad to help, but we’ve gotta get out of here first. Let’s blow this joint… then we’ll talk details on your missing person case.”

“R-right.” Rhiannon snapped back to her senses as Nick cast his cigarette away.

“Malone’s crew used to be small time, muscled out of the old neighbourhood by bigger players… until they found this place.” Nick gave a little exposition as he led the group back down the stairs, “Don’t really know what happened to the previous owners, but they aren’t around to charge rent. An empty Vault… the perfect hideout.”

“Can’t fault that logic,” MacCready said, following after the Synth. Lilith was still trying to be inconspicuous as she observed what exposed machinations there were to the detective.

As the Synth lead them through the atrium, he held an arm out to stop them as they entered a dark room, “Wait. I think the search party’s here.”

“Hey Dino! Quit fuckin’ around!” A Triggerman called out, “Dino?!”

“Where the fuck is he?” A second Triggerman asked.

“We can do this quietly and sneak around or we can go in hard and loud.” Nick whispered to the group.

“More of this shit?!” Cait wanted to scream, but managed to keep her volume low.

“Let’s just get it over with,” Rhiannon decided with a nod.

“Sneaking around hasn’t worked out very well for us in here.” Simon agreed as he double checked his revolver.

“MacCready, would you do us the honor of firing the first shot?” Piper asked the rifleman.

“Dino! I swear to-”

With a bang, the Triggerman’s head was erased and replaced with red mist.

“Jesus!”

“Fuck!”

“Charge!” Cait screamed as she rushed out of the room, using a cafeteria table as a ramp to leap through the air and slam the stock of her shotgun into the face of one of the gangsters. Despite the strike, the man grabbed the shotgun in her hands and attempted to wrest it away.

Lilith rolled against the wall and fired a pair of shots into one of the Triggermen, dropping him instantly.  Rhiannon stepped out of the shadowed doorframe and sprayed the area, pinning the last two down so Simon and Piper could slip around and fire at them. Despite most of Simon’s shots missing, one of the two fell. With a sigh, Piper fired three times to finish the job.

Cait spit in the eyes of the Triggerman she was wrestling with before shoving the stock into his face again, kicking him in the chest as she did. With the man pushed away, Cait fired twice: once in the chest, then once in the head.

“Hard and loud, huh?” Nick deadpanned, “I feel bad for whoever has to clear the floors.”

“Can we just _please_ get out of here?” Simon let his head fall back for a moment, “I’m getting really sick of-”

“Missing every shot?” Piper asked.

“Being a know-it-all?” Lilith added.

“Bitching about everything?” Cait threw in her two cents.

“Getting shot at.” Simon glared at the ladies.

“Huh. I guess that _is_ tiresome.” Piper shrugged.

* * *

Unfortunately for Simon, there were another _two_ shootouts before they finally headed into the final hallway of the Vault. The group was starting to grow weary of what MacCready had earlier referred to as a ‘dungeon crawl,’ and longed to be back outside in the fresh air.

“Skinny Malone and the rest of his boys are up ahead. The name’s… _ironic_ , but don’t let that fool you. He’s dangerous.” Nick advised as he fiddled with the door.

“Well, you know what they say,” Lilith spoke up, “The bigger they are, the harder they...”

“Fall?” Rhiannon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, _hit_.”

“Okay, I got the door, but I hear big, fat footsteps on the other side.” Valentine looked over his shoulder as he warned the group, “Once we step through this door, get ready for anything.”

“Always am,” MacCready replied, holding his rifle at the ready. Lily gave him a skeptical glance.

“What about-”

“They’re _not_ going to be waiting for us disguised as brahmin!”

“It happened before, who’s to say-”

“That happened _one time_ and now-”

“MacCready, Lily, chill.” Piper put a hand to her face.

“We’re ready.” Rhiannon nodded to Nick, “Open the door.”

The door opened at Rhiannon’s word to reveal the aforementioned Skinny Malone, a woman in a sequin dress with a baseball bat, and two additional Triggermen.

“He’s not _that_ fat,” Lily whispered to Nick Valentine as the group hesitantly stepped into the room, weapons drawn and ready.

“Nicky… what’re you doin’?” Skinny Malone exclaimed, “You come into my house, shoot up my guys… do you have any idea how much this is gonna set me back?!”

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for your two-timing dame, Skinny,” Nick responded in a near deadpan as he stepped out in front of the assembled party, “You oughta tell her to write home more often.”

“Aww… poor little Valentine… Ashamed you got beat up by a _girl_?!” Darla mocked the Synth, “I’ll just run back home to Daddy, shall I?!”

Standing off to one side, Lilith and Cait both rolled their eyes, and trained their guns on the woman.

“You should’ve left it alone, Nick… this ain’t the old neighbourhood!” Malone puffed out his chest a little, “In this Vault, I’m the king of the castle, you hear me?”

Before Nick could reply, Malone took a step forward, pointing at the detective with his gun, “And I ain’t lettin’ some private dick shut us down now that I finally got a good thing goin’.”

“I _told_ you we should’ve just _killed_ him!” Darla screeched, “But then you had to get all sentimental… all that crap about the old times…”

“Darla, I’m handling this!” The mobster turned to speak to Darla, lowering his weapon again, “Skinny Malone’s always got things under control!”

Behind the bickering couple, the two triggermen shared a long-suffering glance.

“Oh, yeah?” Darla pointed her bat at the group, swinging it to indicate all of them, “Then what are all _these_ bastards doing here?! Valentine must’ve brought them here to rub us out!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake…” Simon slapped his palm to his face in frustration, “Honestly, none of us give a shit about you, or Skinny Malone, or the ‘old neighbourhood,’ or any of that shit. We came here for Valentine because we need to hire him! End of story!”

“What’s the deal with you and Nick, anyway?” Piper asked, trying to subtly retrieve her notepad and pen.

“Son of a mother-” Simon cursed quietly.

“Darla’s a runaway. Her father paid me to bring her back home. Turns out she skipped town to be with my old pal, Skinny Malone, a mob boss.” Nick pointed out the various individuals to the reporter, “Honestly, I never thought Skinny’d be able to scrape together a big enough crew to take over a Vault. Life’s full of surprises.”

“Hey! Who’s running this show?!” Skinny shouted indignantly, “If you’ve got something to say, say it to _me_!”

“So, you and Nick know each other?” Piper scribbled Nick’s answer and prepared to record Skinny Malone’s.

“Yeah,” Malone chuckled, “This troublemaker used to be a real headache back in the day… before we got kicked out of the old neighbourhood. He and I must’ve done this dance a hundred times. Enemies are the closest thing you get to friends in these parts.”

“That’ll be a fun quote.” Piper murmured.

“Are you seriously doing an interview right now?” MacCready hissed.

“Listen, Mr. Malone,” Rhiannon stepped forward, “This has all been a big misunderstanding. If you let us walk out with Mr. Valentine, you won’t see us again.”

“Darla, listen to me,” Lily spoke to the woman quietly, stepping forward. The words looked painful for her, but she continued, “You have a home to go back to, a father who cares enough to pay good caps to make sure you’re safe. You don’t wanna throw your life away with these thugs.”

“I… you’re right.” Darla sighed, lowering her bat, “I’m going home.”

“First you take out my men, and now you convince my girl to leave me?!” Skinny Malone hefted up his submachine gun.

“Look at yourself!” Simon snapped and shouted at Skinny, “Darla played you for a _sap_ ! You’re better than this. You’re better than _her_.”

“I…” Skinny paused, then lowered his gun, “Alright, fine! I’m giving you all until the count of ten! If I see even a thread of fabric of you after this, you’re dead!”

“Thank you Mr. Malone,” Rhiannon sighed, “Again, I’m sorry for the-”

“One.”

“Let’s get moving.” Nick jerked a mechanical thumb towards the exit, “There’s an old service tunnel we can use to get out of here.”

With Darla now as their plus one, the group hurried after Valentine through the vault. Malone’s slow counting echoed behind them. Winding back through the tunnels, the detective led the group to a ladder that carried them to the surface, where the sun was setting on the Commonwealth sky.

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse,” MacCready sighed, reaching back to help pull the others up onto the street.

“Woof!” Dogmeat agreed as Simon struggled to carry the German Shepherd up the ladder.

“Hmm. Never thought something so naturally ominous would look so inviting.” Nick mused as he looked up at the sky. “Thank you for getting me out… how’d you know where to find me? Not a lot of people knew where I went.”

“Your secretary-” Simon grunted, shoving Dogmeat onto the street.

“Ellie sent us.” Piper and Rhiannon spoke in unison. Simon finally hauled himself up the ladder.

“Remind me to give her a raise.” Nick sighed, “I’m gonna take Darla home. How about you kids meet me back at my office tomorrow afternoon? We’ll discuss that case you mentioned.”

“You sure y’all are good?” Lilith, however, was looking at Darla, not the detective.

“We’ll be fine.” Nick nodded, “But thank you for your concern. I’ll see you back in Diamond City.”

“Oh God, does this mean we have to go back to Goodneighbor?” Simon hung his head, “I’ve slept better on the side of the road than I did there!”

“Cready shove you onto the couch, sugar?” Lily guessed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah…” The mechanic sighed.

“That thing’s a piece of shit.” Lilith clapped him on the shoulder.

“Maybe there will be more rooms available tonight?” Rhiannon offered hopefully.

“Or we could hoof it back to Diamond City so some of us don’t have to sleep on shitty couches?” Simon replied, giving MacCready a subtle glare.

“Unless you have caps for rooms at the Dugout, one of you will have to crash on _my_ ’shitty couch.’” Piper replied, complete with finger quotes, “Maybe even the floor.”

“I mean, we could share rooms at the Dugout,” Lilith suggested with a shrug.

“Do we have caps for that?” MacCready asked.

“I think _you_ do.” Simon’s glaring at MacCready lost its subtlety.

“We’re wasting daylight either way.” Rhiannon interjected, “Let’s head back to Diamond City, we’ll figure out sleeping arrangements when we get there.”

* * *

By the time the group reached Diamond City, it was well past midnight, and all of them were dragging their feet. Even Dogmeat had, at one point, sat down on a street corner and refused to keep going until Simon carried him for a few minutes.

“Let’s just… sleep right here.” Simon sat down on the step just inside Diamond City.

“Agreed,” Cait groaned, dropping down beside the mechanic, “Fuck me, I’m tired.”

“We’re almost there,” Piper sighed, making her way past them down the stairs. “Come on. Nat’s probably gonna be disappointed to not have the place to herself again.”

“Who’s staying where?” MacCready asked, gripping the railing as he followed behind the reporter.

“Oh shit, we _still_ gotta figure that out…” Simon let his head rest in his hands.

“Well, we can draw lots,” Lilith suggested, offering her hands to help Cait and Simon to their feet.

“That sounds fair.” Rhiannon sighed tiredly, “But Dogmeat gets to choose who he rooms with.”

“Whuff.” Dogmeat let out a quiet bark of agreement. Lilith reached into one of her many pouches, pulling out a few pairs of what looked like chopsticks. She turned her back to the group, arranging them, and then turned back.

“Alrighty, everyone draw.”

“Did you get those at Power Noodles?” Piper asked, raising an eyebrow as Cait plucked a stick from the pack.

“Sure did.” Lily replied as Rhiannon took a stick.

“Rook, we haven’t been to Diamond City in _months_. Why do you still have those?” MacCready asked, as he, too, pulled one from her hands.

“For moments like this.”

“Ugh.” Simon rolled his eyes, drawing his lot, “I don’t want to think about where these have been.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Lilith scoffed. She held out the two remaining straws to Piper. “You gotta pick too, sweetie. Find out which lucky duck is crashing on your couch.”

With a sigh, Piper took one of the remaining two. The group huddled together to compare straws.

“So… We have Cait and I,” Rhiannon looked over the results, “Lily and Simon, and MacCready’s staying with Piper.”

“Whoa, crazy how that worked out,” Lily muttered, holding out her hand to take back the sticks.

“I’ll cover your room,” MacCready passed some caps to Rhiannon, “But I’m not covering your booze.”

“Fair enough,” Rhiannon replied, “I’m going to bed, no detours.”

“See you crazy fucks in the morning.” Cait waved as she started to descend the stairs, nearly falling twice on her way down.

“Looks like it’s you and me, sugar.” Lilith’s elbow bumped against Simon’s.

“Ha… so it seems…” Simon said nervously.

“See you tomorrow, Lils,” MacCready said, following Piper down the steps. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“No promises,” she retorted immediately.

“So Piper… what are the chances of a one-on-one interview in the near future?” MacCready asked, a tiny smirk on his face.

“Oh, MacCready…” Piper pat his cheek, “Never in a million years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MacCready is fun to write for because I can make so many Critical Role and D&D references.


	15. Conscience & Consequence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick Valentine and Rhiannon discuss the kidnapping of her son. Meanwhile, Scarlett experiences how the Harbingers spend their downtime, Caldwell warns Mason and the Banshee against further infighting, and Witch has a run-in with Mr. Brownstone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Drug Reference
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Thornley.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN**

**CONSCIENCE & CONSEQUENCE**

* * *

**January 15th, 2288.**

_“Into each life some rain must fall, but too much is falling in mine. Into each heart some tears must fall, but some day the sun will shine...”_

Rhiannon woke up, the soft music of Diamond City Radio playing through the Pip-Boy she’d left on the nightstand. Dogmeat was curled up at the foot of the bed, and Cait had drunkenly fallen asleep on the floor after spending most of the night at the bar. Turning the dial on her Pip-Boy to silence the music, Rhiannon carefully lifted Cait into the bed, put her in the recovery position, and then got dressed.

“Whuff.” Dogmeat gave a quiet little bark.

“I know,” Rhiannon whispered, patting his head, “But I feel like she would’ve drank that much even if I _hadn’t_ told her everything.”

The general pushed the door open, closing it quietly behind her, and headed for the bar.

“No, no, no,” Lilith sighed. She and Simon were sitting at the bar as Rhiannon approached, the mechanic looking completely baffled while the mercenary ran a hand through her short hair. “Okay, pay attention. Everything I say _after_ ‘Snaps is the name of the game,’ is part of the clue.”

“I understand even less than when we started an hour ago.” Simon deadpanned, “Is it supposed to be morse code? I know morse code and this is not it.”

“No, the snaps are vowels! The phrases are the other letters.”

“The consonants?” Rhiannon supplied, sliding into the seat beside Simon.

“Yeah, those!”

“Rhiannon, save me.” Simon turned over, “She’s been trying to teach me this game for an hour and I _still don’t get it_!”

“Well, Rhiannon’s the brains of this outfit, maybe she’ll get it.” Lily leaned on the bar. “Wanna try?”

“I can’t take this anymore.” Simon raised a hand, “Vadim, drink please!”

“Starting early, are we?” Vadim grinned as he slid a bottle down the counter for Simon.

“Blame Lilith and her insufferable game,” Simon sighed.

“Vadim, have _you_ ever played Snaps?” Lilith asked, beaming winningly at the bartender.

“That’s it, I’m fuckin’ leaving!” Simon stood up with his bottle, throwing some caps down for Vadim, “I’m gonna check on Piper and MacCready! If someone says the word ‘Snaps’ again I’m gonna-”

“Snap?” Rhiannon offered with a much too innocent smile. Simon’s scream of frustration was the only thing that drowned out Lilith’s laughter.

* * *

“So thirsty… Cola… need a Nuka Cola!” An old man rocked back and forth on the ground between Moe Cronin and Arturo’s stores.

“Drink. Some. Water.” Simon held a palm to his face.

“Nuka Cola!” The man started whimpering.

“Oh, Simon…” Piper sighed, pulling the mechanic aside, “Sheffield used to be an alcoholic, cut him a little slack.”

“You… just want a soda?” Rhiannon asked, kneeling to the man’s level.

“Dugout Inn usually has some, but I can’t go there…” The old man said, “I can’t be near booze… the doctor says I can’t drink that…”

“Here, honey,” Lilith said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a Nuka Cola Cherry.

“That was real sweet of you.” Piper smiled at the act of kindness.

“…Did you just make a-” Simon slowly turned towards the reporter.

“Not on purpose!”

“Addicted to Nuka Cola?” MacCready rolled his eyes, “Now I’ve heard it all.”

“Oh! Thank you, thank you!” Sheffield smiled brightly, taking the bottle from Lilith as if it were the holy grail.

“Hey, Sheffield…” Rhiannon put an arm on the man’s shoulder while he drank, “How about you come work for me?”

“R-really? You mean that?!” Sheffield gasped, nearly dropping the bottle in shock.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon pulled up her Pip-Boy’s map, “If you head to Sanctuary Hills, and tell Preston Garvey the general said it was okay for you to live there, I’m sure we could find something for you to do. And we’ll even pay you, so you can buy Nuka Cola for yourself.”

“Okay… I’ll… I’ll do it!” Sheffield smiled.

“And I’ll even pay for your trip,” Piper added, “We’ve gotta go see Mr. Valentine, but I’ll get you sorted when we’re done.”

“Thank you so much!” Sheffield smiled as the group walked away. As they turned a corner towards Valentine’s office, Rhiannon couldn’t help but overhear a conversation held between a pair of handymen.

“So is _anybody_ fighting back against the Institute?”

“My cousin works with a group… call themselves the Railroad. Got a code phrase and everything: ‘Follow the Freedom Trail.’”

“What? That’s bullshit, man…”

Lilith and Simon both slowed their pace, glancing towards the men. However, this caused them to bump into MacCready.

“Hey!”

“Sorry!” Simon stuttered out, “Just… spaced out for a moment there.”

“Are you okay, Simon?” Rhiannon turned around as they reached the door.

“Probably still trying to figure out Snaps.” Lilith grinned.

“…I hate you.” Simon grumbled.

“Sure you do, sugar.” Lilith winked, and MacCready sighed.

“You really tried to teach him that stupid game?”

“I _tried._ ”

Rhiannon smiled and rolled her eyes as she opened the door to Valentine’s Detective Agency. As everyone filed in, Ellie looked up from her desk with a wide smile.

“You saved Nick, this agency… and my job. Thank you,” she greeted them as Nick walked out from a back room.

“Happy to help.” Rhiannon nodded.

“Yeah? So you go diving into scary Pre-War ruins all the time?” Ellie smirked as she reached into the desk, “I know an amount wasn’t on the table when you went out to find him, but you deserve a reward. Plus a little something extra.”

“That’s not really necessary-” Rhiannon attempted to interject before Ellie brought forth an old trench coat and hat, as well as a bag of caps. Lilith and MacCready lit up, and the female mercenary immediately grabbed the bag.

“We have more, in case your friends want a set too.” She added as she passed the folded clothes over to Rhiannon.

“No thanks.” Piper politely declined, “I’ll keep the coat I have.”

“You know,” Ellie mused, “If any of you feel like putting on the detective’s cap and helping Nick with a case…”

“One case at a time, Ellie.” Nick interrupted, “Our new friend needs help first. Let’s get down to business…?”

“Rhiannon.” The general introduced herself.

“Rhiannon… like the-”

“Fleetwood Mac song, yes.” Rhiannon confirmed.

“Well, Rhiannon, take a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” Nick gestured to a chair on the other side of the desk he found a seat at.

“I’m gonna get Sheffield’s travel arrangements taken care of, then I’ll wait outside. Give you a little privacy.” Piper pat Rhiannon on the shoulder as she sat down.

“Yeah, we’ll just... go... evenly distribute these here caps,” Lily said, taking a step towards the door and still holding the bag close.

“You hold on a minute!” Simon reached for the bag, “Not until I count them!”

“Jesus,” MacCready sighed, following Piper outside.

“What, you don’t trust me?” Lily set a hand over her heart in mock distress, holding the bag out of Simon’s reach in the other hand.

“Nope. Not with money.” Simon answered immediately.

“…Smart man.” Lily tossed him the bag.

“Come on, we’ll give them a moment.” Simon nodded towards the back room.

After everyone had cleared out, the room was fairly silent, save for the creaking of an old fan and Simon quietly counting caps and separating them into six piles. Rhiannon settled deeper into the comfy chair provided as Nick and Ellie prepared a file to record the case notes.

“When you’re trying to find someone that’s gone missing, the devil is in the details.” Nick leaned forward, “Please, tell me everything you can… no matter how painful it may be.”

Rhiannon took a moment to try and ready herself, thumb brushing over the dial on her Pip-Boy that she’d used so many times to eject that holotape of her husband and son. She took a deep breath, and reopened the wound.

“We were in a Vault, when it happened,” she began slowly. “Um... Vault 111. It was... some kind of cryo facility.”

“You were on ice, huh?” Nick mused, as Ellie jotted notes onto her clipboard. “More importantly, you were underground. Sealed up. That’s a lot of obstacles to get through just to take one person. What else can you tell me?”

“My husband was...” Rhiannon paused, the words catching in her throat as her eyes filled with tears. She could still see Vincent’s face, hear the echoing gunshot and Shaun’s screaming cries. “…Murdered. He was trying to stop them from taking Shaun.”

“It’s okay… you don’t need to say any more.” Ellie attempted to comfort Rhiannon.

“So, we’re talking about a group of cold-hearted killers, but they waited until something went wrong to resort to violence…” Nick stared at the desk in thought. “Anything else you remember?”

“Well, we’re looking for my baby, Shaun. He’s less than a year old.” Finally, the question that had been weighing her down spilled forth, “Why would anyone take him?”

“A good question,” Valentine agreed, his luminous eyes lifting to Rhiannon’s face. “Why your family in particular, and why an infant? Someone would be taking on all of his care, and a baby needs a lot of it.”

Nick nodded to himself. “That confirms it. This isn’t some random kidnapping. Whoever took your kid had an agenda.”

“Probably not raiders or Gunners.” Simon added as he and Lilith rounded the corner. The female mercenary, now wearing the grey trench coat over her leather straps, continued outside while the mechanic leaned against the doorframe. “No way they could handle taking care of a kid.”

“There’s a lot of groups in the Commonwealth that take people,” Valentine continued, “But like your boyfriend says, probably not Gunners, raiders, or Super Mutants. There is, of course, the Institute...”

“So... you think the Institute is responsible?” Rhiannon asked, looking over her shoulder towards Simon.

“Well, they’re the bogeyman of the Commonwealth,” Valentine answered with a shrug. “Something goes wrong, everyone blames them. Easy to see why. Those early model synths of theirs strip whole towns for parts, killing everything in their way.

“Then you got the newer models,” he continued, lighting a cigarette. “Good as human, that infiltrate cities and pull strings from the shadows. Worst of all, no one knows why they do it, what their plan is, or where they are. Not even me, and I’m a Synth myself. A discarded prototype, anyway.”

“A prototype,” Simon repeated. “Piper called you that, too, but what does that mean in _your_ case?”

“It means I’ve never seen any other Synth like myself. There’s the older ones that are dumb as rocks and all metal, then there’s the newer ones that are almost human. I’m somewhere in between.”

“Sorry, but... about finding Shaun?” Rhiannon reminded the two men.

“Right.” Nick turned his attention back to her. “This speculation is getting us off track. Let’s focus on what you saw. What did these kidnappers look like?”

“The woman was dressed in...” Rhiannon struggled to recall, trying to sort out the details in her mind. “I think it was a kind of hazard suit. The man had... some sort of metal brace on his arm.”

“Maybe some kind of improvised armor? Like your friend Lily wears? Lot of hired guns do that to look tough.” Nick took a drag from his cigarette, the smoke filtering through the exposed mechanisms of his neck. “The hazard suit is interesting. Not many mercs can afford something that fancy. What else do you remember about them?”

“I’ll never forget that voice,” Rhiannon answered immediately, feeling a chill run through her as she replayed the scene in her mind. “Low and rough. Like... like sandpaper across your face.”

“Hmm. Not much to go on, but a tough and commanding voice can get someone pretty far in the violence business.” Nick looked like the pieces were beginning to fall into place, an expression of intense concentration on his face. “What else?”

“The man came right up to me,” Rhiannon replied, staring vacantly at her hands, which were folded in her lap. “Bald head, scar across his left eye.”

“Wait.” Nick sat forward in his chair, and her gaze focused and raised to his face. “It couldn’t be... You didn’t hear the name “Kellogg” at all, did you?”

“I... might have.” Rhiannon tried to recall, but shook her head and sighed. “Everything was foggy.”

“Hmm. It’s way too big of a coincidence.” Nick took another drag off his cigarette, turning to Ellie as the smoke escaped him. “Ellie, what notes do we have about the Kellogg case?”

“The description matches,” Ellie confirmed immediately. “Bald head, scar, reputation for dangerous mercenary work. But... no one knows who his employer is.”

“And he bought a house here in town, right?” Valentine confirmed. “ _And_ he had a kid with him, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, that’s right! The house in the abandoned West Stands. The boy with him was around ten years old.”

At this, all eyes turned back to Rhiannon, who felt like she’d just licked a battery, a jolt running through her. Ten years old… That’s right; she’d frozen again after they’d left. Any amount of time could have passed. What felt like only moments to her…  could it really have been ten whole years? An entire decade?

Had she missed everything? Shaun’s first words, his first steps, him learning to read... Had he ever learned to ride a bike like Vinny had been so eager to teach him? Was he quiet, was he kind, or outspoken? Her thoughts swirled as she realized it was very possible she’d missed his entire childhood, been robbed of everything she’d wanted to experience when she became a mother.

“Rhiannon?” Simon put a hand on her shoulder as he knelt down beside her.

“You said he lives here?” She finally spoke, not looking at anyone still. “He’s still in town?”

“They both vanished a while back, if I’m remembering right,” Nick admitted, getting to his feet. “But that house is still there. Let’s you and I take a walk over to Kellogg’s last known address. See if we can snoop out where he went.”

“Security doesn’t really go to that part of town, but you all should still be careful,” Ellie cautioned.

“I always am,” Valentine replied. Ellie and Simon exchanged a skeptical look.

* * *

When Rhiannon, Simon, and Valentine emerged from the agency, the woman’s eyes a little red and puffy, her friends were waiting for them… except for Cait, who was likely still sleeping off her hangover.

“What’s the word, bird?” Lilith asked, looking up from where she was scratching Dogmeat’s stomach, the German Shepherd’s back leg kicking happily.

“We’re gonna be headed to the West Stands. Our perp may have been hiding out there,” Simon replied, passing the owed caps to MacCready and Piper.

“Wait, that creep in the West Stands is our guy?” the reporter asked.

“Looks like it,” Nick said, leading the group onwards, “Now… I didn’t want to mention this in front of Ellie, but everything I could dig up on Kellogg before his disappearance was bad news.”

“As if there’s any other kind…” MacCready rolled his eyes.

“He’s more than a mercenary… he’s a professional,” Valentine continued as their path led them up a set of stairs, “Quick, clean, thorough. He has no known enemies… because they’re all dead.”

The detective paused to glance back at Rhiannon, “Except you.”

“Yikes.” Simon tugged at his collar.

“Nine to one odds say he’s our man. It’s more than just his identifying features; the MO has his fingerprints all over it as well,” Nick explained. “Leading a small team into a Vault to kidnap a baby, and leaving one of the parents alive for later? Not many mercs in the Commonwealth could pull that off.”

“Bet I could,” Lilith interjected with a smirk. It fell, however, as MacCready gave her a disapproving glance. The rest of the short walk to Kellogg’s former residence was done in silence.

“Here we are. Let’s see if I can get this open.” Nick approached the door and pulled out a bobby pin. He gave an honest attempt at lockpicking, but after a few moments, he let out a sigh, “No dice, unless any of you want to try.”

Piper and MacCready immediately pushed Lilith forward.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it.” She sighed, pulling out her own bobby pins and kneeling down to pick at the lock. For about a minute, Lilith bit her lip, in deep concentration, until the pin she’d shoved in the lock snapped. “Shit.”

“How are we supposed to get in?” Rhiannon felt tears in her eyes, and then Simon’s hand on her back, steadying her.

“Maybe he left a key under the mat,” Lilith suggested sarcastically, tossing her broken bobby pin away.

MacCready looked under the mat, “Nope.”

“Rhiannon,” Simon said carefully, “I think we need to regroup. Take a moment to breathe and come back to this.”

“Kellogg _is_ dangerous, and we want to be sure we’re not about to walk into a trap here.” Nick assented.

“Here’s an idea, and it’s up to you.” Simon reached for Rhiannon’s hand, “You head back to Sanctuary Hills, get Preston on board. We could use his help. Then in a week we’ll all meet back here in Diamond City, and we’ll take on this bastard. What do you think?”

“He has Shaun, Simon.” Rhiannon’s voice was strained. She took his hand in both of hers, holding tight.

“Cait’s hungover, and we don’t nearly have enough guns or ammo to take on a guy like Kellogg,” Simon replied softly, “If we rush in blindly… it’s not gonna end well.”

“…You’re right,” she finally admitted, sighing. “Okay… Okay. We’ll come back to this.”

“One week.” Piper nodded, “We’ll meet at the Dugout in a week.”

“If Kellogg feels safe wherever the hell he’s holed up, he’ll be there when it’s time for us to hunt him down,” Lily said, trying to sound reassuring.

“So, you’re headed back to Sanctuary to get this… Preston guy.” MacCready gestured to Rhiannon, “Piper’s probably gonna work on her newspaper-”

“ _And_ I’m gonna try and get any info I can on Kellogg and this house,” Piper added.

“I’m gonna head back to my place.” Simon adjusted his newsboy cap, “Maybe I can scrap together some upgrades for our weapons and armor?”

“I’ll take care of Cait, maybe take her to see KLEO in Goodneighbor. Rook, you coming with me?”

“I’ll catch up to you, I think,” Lily replied. “I’ll make sure these nerds get home safe, then I’ll be back in Goodneighbor in a couple of days.”

“Nerds?” Simon furrowed his brows.

“Well, alright.” Nick put a hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder, “Stay strong, Rhiannon. We’ll get your boy back.”

One by one, the group splintered off. Piper headed back towards her homestead, Valentine to his office. MacCready was bound for the Dugout Inn to relay the news to Cait, with Lily on his heels to gather their things. Simon stayed behind with Rhiannon for a moment, before turning to leave.

“Simon,” Rhiannon called after him. The mechanic stopped and turned around.

“Yeah?”

“I... haven’t properly thanked you for... for everything.”

“Well… I guess… you’re welcome?” Simon struggled to find the right words.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“That day, on the bridge... you... were about to tell me something when those raiders showed up. What... what was it?”

Simon blinked, realizing that at some point in their conversation, they’d come chest to chest with each other.

“That you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Simon felt a deep coldness in his chest. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Rhiannon silenced the mechanic, taking his face in her hands and pulling him into a sudden kiss. After a moment of hesitation, attempting to discern whether or not it was reality, Simon kissed back. The pair leaned into one another, the kiss shifting from tentative to passionate... then, suddenly, both broke away.

“This isn’t gonna work, is it?” Simon murmured.

“No way.” Rhiannon couldn’t help but giggle, the whole situation absurd and overwhelming. “No how.”

“Oh, wow…” Simon pulled his hat off and ran his hands through his hair. His face broke into a nervous smile, “Wow… that… that _happened_.”

“That’s a weight off my shoulders,” Rhiannon laughed, leaning on the railing. “I mean, everyone kept making assumptions, and then I started thinking about it, and then over thinking-”

“I hate overthinking,” Simon agreed, returning his hat to his head, still grinning.

“- and then you said... that.” Rhiannon trailed off, and after a pause, stuck out her hand. “Weird, awkward friends?”

“Forever.” Simon smiled, shaking her hand. Rhiannon pulled him into a tight embrace, which he returned. Both of them, the woman out of time and the nomadic mechanic, were glad for the camaraderie.

* * *

**January 21, 2288.**

_“Early in the morning, risin' to the street, light me up that cigarette and I strap shoes on my feet. Got to find a reason, a reason things went wrong, got to find a reason why my money's all gone…”_

Perhaps inspired by the mountains of music Caldwell had left for him, RedEye was playing a new song on the radio this morning. Though he had attempted to take credit for the writing of the song, Scarlett knew that the DJ was full of shit.

Nursing a bit of a headache from the night before, the Queen of Hearts followed the instructions of the song; lighting a cigarette as she dressed herself, Scarlett prepared for the day ahead. After how much of a disaster she was on the way home, Scarlett had decided to reward Witch with part of a costume she’d found: a cloak of black feathers. After all… he’d kept her from being preyed upon, held her hair while she was sick, made sure she was in the recovery position when she’d gone to sleep…

Making sure she looked put together, Scarlett made her way to Harbinger territory, the gift carefully bundled and kept in a sackcloth bag. Head held high, eyes hidden behind sunglasses, Scarlett passed through Operator territory without giving anyone a second glance… even though she’d thrown up at the feet of their mannequins at least twice. Reaching the main entrance of the Harbinger’s common room, she knocked three times.

There was nearly a minute without response. Just as Scarlett was reaching up to knock again, the door opened, and a young, androgynous looking Harbinger with short, dark hair and eyes glared out at her.

“Yes?”

“Is… the Banshee here?” Scarlet asked, trying to peek around them. From what she could see inside, the Harbingers all seemed to be huddled tightly around something across the room.

“She’s on business with the Overboss. Finally getting even with that Pack douchebag.”

“Oh. Alright.” Scarlett sighed, “Should I come back later?”

“Uh...” The Harbinger glanced over their shoulder.

“Xian Jun, get back here!” Another Harbinger shouted. “I think Noose has it!”

“Shit. Nah, just come in and wait for her.” The raider rushed back, shoving through the crowd.

“What’s going on?” Scarlett asked, trying to follow them, having to squeeze through the sea of onlookers. On the other side, she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Noose and Doc, the Super Mutants Moira had introduced her to yesterday, sat across from one another at a large table, a grid of planter boxes in between them, and a pile of white stones next to Doc, black next to Noose. The Harbingers watched with bated breath, one of their members on the table observing carefully.

After a second, Noose lifted a stone and set it into one of the planters. A groan went up from the onlookers. The fair-haired man on the table pulled off his gas mask, throwing it to the floor.

“Statistically impossible!” He shouted. “This is _bullshit_!”

“Chill, Ellison,” another Harbinger called out.

“Wait, what’s going on?” Scarlett looked around, realization dawning on her, “Are… are they playing _tic-tac-toe_?”

“Yep.” Next to her, the Harbinger known as Vulture was standing with his arms folded, chewing on the nail of his thumb. A crow mask was worn on his head, but he’d clearly pushed it up out of his vision. In a chair in front of him, Moth, still looking worse for wear, was squinting at the game, trying to see without her right eye, or her glasses. “Someone- probably Luka and Sinead, honestly- had the bright idea of teaching the Mutants to play. Give them something to keep occupied with. And for some goddamn reason, Noose and Doc have never been able to beat each other. They tie, literally every. Single. Game.”

“Fourteen months, _three hundred and eighty seven_ games!” Ellison was still ranting, making a mark on a clipboard. “This makes no sense!”

“They must be evenly matched?” Scarlett offered.

“ _Three hundred and_ -”

“She heard you the first time, Ellison,” Stitches interrupted. She was standing by Moth, arms also crossed and foot tapping rapidly. “Anyways, Queenie, we all have caps on it at this point.”

“Today is the _day_!” Ellison continued, climbing back onto the table. “Clear the stones.”

A few Harbingers let out various sounds of annoyance and excitement as the colored stones were returned to their waiting positions. Ellison held his hands over the grid, looking between the two Mutants. “Alright. Doc went first last time, that means Noose starts. This is the game. I can feel it.”

“It’s _always_ ‘the game,’” Xian Jun muttered.

“And... play on!” Ellison raised his hand. Noose picked up one of his rocks, setting it in the center square. Stitches sighed, while the room quieted down.

“They always start in the center,” she mumbled.

After a second of staring at the grid, Doc lifted a stone and placed it in the upper right corner. Noose immediately countered by dropping a stone into the lower right. Doc placed his in the upper left. Noose’s next stone hit the middle of the top row. Harbingers began to groan and grumble, seeing where this was going to end already.

Doc frowned, setting a white stone in the bottom middle square. Noose took another moment to consider his options, then filled the final, center square on the right hand side. The excitement in the room returned, until Doc, naturally, blocked the final middle square.

“We can’t do this again! That was fifteen games in one morning, all ties!” Vulture exclaimed. “I’m losing caps here, Ellison!”

“Alright, we’re done.” The man on the table sighed, making another note on his clipboard. “Clear stones. Good game, boys.”

As the Harbingers began to disperse, grumbling, the door to the headquarters opened, and Sinead and Fontayne scuttled in. The former let out a low, quick whistle, and the conversations died, everyone looking to one another in confusion as they began to tread slowly and lightly, as though preparing for an ambush.

“Sinead, what-” Ellison began to ask, when a glowing, horned, reptilian head poked into the room, followed by the rest of the Deathclaw.

“Holy fuckin’ Mary, mother of Jesus H. Christ on a pike!” Scarlett screamed, ducking behind Grin, who had lumbered forwards towards the door.

“That’s a mouthful of a curse,” Witch said as he followed the creature in. Moira was at his side, reaching out to pat the glowing beast.

“Good morning, Scarlett.”

“W-wh-wha-what the fuck?!” Scarlett pointed at the Deathclaw, “That… it… big… here… how?”

“Oh, this is Volos. He’s harmless... I believe.” The Banshee ran her hand over the Deathclaw’s head, and he nuzzled into her touch. “He _can_ smell fear, though, so you might want to relax a little.”

“You _believe_ he’s harmless?!” Scarlett shrieked.

“Well, he didn’t try to eat anyone on the way over,” Witch said with a shrug. “That’s something.”

“Caldwell did some weird voodoo shit, and now he’s fine,” Fontayne agreed.

“You can pet him, if you’d like,” Moira offered.

Scarlett very slowly crept out from behind the Super Mutant and walked towards the Deathclaw. It probably took her a full minute to cross the ten feet between her and the reptile. She reached out as far as she could, ready to pull her hand back at a moment’s notice. Volos turned his head, sniffing at her fingers. After a moment, he made a soft rumbling sound and licked them. Scarlett let out a tiny squeak before she realized that it had only licked her. More comfortable now, she ran her hand along the front of his nose.

“Definitely harmless,” Witch confirmed, his shoulders relaxing. “If it didn’t take _her_ hand off, we’re all in the clear. As long as we don’t antagonize it.”

“Oh, Witch, I have something for you.” Scarlett retrieved the bag she’d dropped at the door, “For taking care of me last night.”

“Ooooooh,” Came a few cat calls, as the Harbingers began to relax around their new pet.

“Shut the fuck up,” Scarlett scoffed and rolled her eyes, but wore a tiny smile.

“We all know Witch only has eyes for that one-eyed narc,” Stitches chimed in.

“Gage is _not_ a narc!” Witch snapped. There were more than a few raised eyebrows at this.

“ _Anyways_ ,” the Banshee interrupted, “Volos is our repayment. A... _gift_ from Mason and the Pack as retribution for their foolishness. Now, we’re even. And that means I don’t want to hear anything about any one of you fucking with the Pack. It’s over and done. Keep your noses clean, and focus on the other gangs.”

“Boop.” Scarlett poked the Deathclaw’s nose. He snorted, a blast of hot air blowing into her face. As this happened, Witch unfolded the gift Scarlett had passed to him, the cloak of dark feathers unfurling in his hands.

“Do you like it?” Scarlett asked, looking over.

“…I love it.”

“Are you… crying?”

“Nope. Just got… hay in my eye. From the amphitheatre.” Witch blinked a few times, and tied the cloak around his shoulders. It blended seamlessly with the mantle of crow feathers he wore, making his shoulders look even wider, his appearance more ominous.

“Looks good,” Sinead appraised, then noticed the set up across the room. “Wait... did we miss it? Did someone win?”

“No,” Ellison sighed, pulling his gas mask back on. “Next time. Next time’s the game. I can feel it.”

* * *

“…So the Rust Devils will be allotted extra scrap materials for their research into restoring, repairing, and rebuilding Pre-War vehicles.” Caldwell checked another item off the agenda. The Inner Circle had gathered once again, with points of interest being debated and presented.

“Thank you, Overboss. If all goes well, we’ll be able to travel to and from the Commonwealth faster.” Ivey nodded as a Rust Devil courier rushed off to inform his brethren of the good news.

“Before we conclude this meeting…” The Overboss pushed his chair back and rose to loom over the table, “I would like to remind each and every one of you that infighting will absolutely _not_ be tolerated.

“We continue to grow closer and closer to breaching the doors of the power plant, and our more scientifically inclined members have assured me that their attempts to create armored hazmat suits have been making progress. The first wave of my agents have been unleashed upon the Commonwealth only yesterday, and soon they shall relay important information we can use to launch our invasion.

“No longer shall mercy be shown when dealing with infighting. I will find the punishments that will hurt most and inflict them upon the perpetrators. If you cannot rally your people to co-exist, then you will be dethroned and replaced by someone who can… or you will be _destroyed_. Do I make myself clear?!”

“Yes, Overboss!” A chorus of voices responded to their leader’s speech.

“Good.” Caldwell nodded, “Mason and the Banshee, the two of you shall remain behind. The rest of you are dismissed.”

Sitting between Scarlett and Nisha, it took all of the Banshee’s willpower not to wince, or sink down in her chair like a child about to be scolded. From behind her, Witch set a hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze before reluctantly leaving his leader at the table.

“Don’t worry,” Scarlett whispered over to Moira, “If he was going to kill you, he’d’ve done it publically.”

“I’m not worried about Caldwell,” Moira replied, as Nisha left without any outward form of sympathy. “I’m worried that with all of these reminders Mason’s going to try and even an already level field.”

“I think-”

“Staying late after class won’t get you closer to the professor,” Mags sneered at Scarlett as she rose from her seat.

“You were dismissed, Mags,” Moira said, a hard edge to her voice.

The Operator’s nostrils flared briefly, but she left without another word. Scarlett let out a small sigh, “Thank you.”

“If she speaks to you like that again, let me know. She’ll regret it.”

“Banshee. You can chat with the Queen of Hearts on your own time. We’re still on _mine_.” Caldwell warned from the head of the table as he lit a cigar for Goliath. Moira gave Scarlett a nod. Silently, the raider queen rose from her seat, blew a kiss to Caldwell, then exited the Fizztop Grille.

The Banshee crossed her arms, kicking her feet up onto the table. “My apologies, Caldwell.”

“You _will_ be sorry if you even _look_ at-” Mason growled.

“Enough!” Caldwell slammed his fist on the table, “From this moment onwards, I don’t want to even hear the faintest whisper that your gangs are planning any form of hostility against each other. If you so much as even _piss_ in each other’s direction, I swear to Christ-”

“The Harbingers and Pack are even.” Moira rolled her eyes. “My people will fall in line.”

“Mason?” The Overboss glared at the Pack Alpha, “Am I clear?”

“Transparently.” Mason huffed.

“Good.” Caldwell took a step away from the table, “I’m glad we understand each other. Keep your pets in line, or I’ll have to take-”

“Oh, Jay Jay!”

Caldwell’s face fell as soon as the voice of Sierra Petrovita called from beyond the doors of the Fizztop Grille. A moment later, the doors swung open as the blonde burst into the room with a pair of picnic baskets, one of them overflowing with assorted bottles of Nuka Cola beverages.

“Jay Jay?” The Banshee’s expression of irritation shifted to one of barely contained glee. Even Mason struggled to suppress his laughter.

“It’s time for our picnic!” Sierra raised the baskets with a sing song voice.

“Sierra, I’m _still_ in a meeting,” Caldwell replied with clenched teeth, “I _told_ you not to interrupt me in the middle of a meeting.”

“Well, you’re not cancelling on me _again_! It’s the warmest day we’ve had this year, and you’ve been postponing this date since November.” Sierra crossed her arms.

“Oh, we’re just about finished here,” Moira assured the woman, getting to her feet. As she did she smirked at the Overboss. “You and Jay Jay can have the rest of the day all to yourselves.”

“We’re not _done_ until I say we are.” Caldwell turned to glare at the Banshee, “Sierra, would you kindly wait by the gate? I’ll be along in a moment.”

“You’d better be!” Sierra threatened with smile, then pressed a kiss to Caldwell’s face and bounded off. As soon as she was gone, the Overboss turned to the two that remained.

“If you so much as _think_ about telling _anyone_ what you just saw, I will not only crucify you, I will not only rip out your tongues, but I will burn everything you’ve ever loved to the fucking ground. Do I make myself clear?” His voice was a low growl, somehow more frightening than if he had shouted.

“Crystal clear, boss.” Mason responded, looking at the ground.

“Yes, boss.” Moira was still grinning, meeting his eyes.

“Banshee, hold a moment. Mason, dismissed.” Caldwell locked eyes with Moira. The Pack Alpha left the building without another word. Moira watched Mason go, then turned back to her boss.

“I’m not going to sleep with you to make whoever that was jealous. Ask Mags or Scarlett.”

Without a word, Caldwell stormed over, grabbed the Banshee by the neck, and pressed her against the wall, “Knowing my name is one thing, but if you _ever_ refer to me as ‘Jay Jay’ to _anyone_ , then I will tear you limb from _fucking_ limb with my bare hands. Am. I. Clear?”

Her smile had softened, no longer a grin, but a cruel curl to her lips. For a moment, the Banshee was quiet, observing the rage in his eyes. And perhaps it was Caldwell’s own wishful thinking, but as her eyes searched his, he could swear there was a flicker of lust and arousal in her gaze.

“As glass.”

“Good.” Caldwell let her go, “You may go now.”

“As you wish, _James_.” Moira took her leave before he could say anything more.

* * *

As Witch headed out of the council chamber, his steps did not carry him back towards the Harbinger’s headquarters, but to the clinic. Arriving just moments after the chem cook that called it home, the feathered raider leaned in the door, pulling out a cigarette.

“Got a light?”

“Fuck yeah, I got a-” Brownstone’s smile dropped as soon as he turned around, “Ohhh shit, you’re on the blacklist.”

“Hey, I’m not here looking for a fix.” Witch’s smile and voice were easy, relaxed. “Just a friend.”

“Cool, cool, cool, but your chickie with the fucked up leg ain’t in anymore; she’s back home learnin’ to walk again.” Brownstone nodded once for each ‘cool.’

“Yeah. Moth’s tougher than she looks.” Witch held out his cigarette. “But let’s digress. Light?”

“A light’s a light.” Brownstone shrugged, throwing a flip lighter from his pocket to Witch. The Harbinger caught it, and lit up. “You do understand I can’t sell you jack shit though. Except like, _medical_ shit, like RadAway, Rad-X, Stims, weed-”

“Yeah, no doubt, no doubt.” Witch took a drag, and let the smoke curl out from between his teeth. “Wait, you got weed?”

“Fuck yeah,” Brownstone grinned, “Had a trader a few months back with some quality seed, and so I got growers in the basement. It’s the only thing I’m authorized to sell people on the blacklist aside from… well, y’know.”

“Yeah. How much is it going for?” The Harbinger’s relaxed voice had taken on an ardent tone.

“Well, the current market price is like… ehh… twenty-five for five?” The junkie did some math in his head.

“Yeah, deal.” Witch reached into the pockets of his leathers, drawing out seventy-five caps and offering them to the chem cook.

“Fuckin’ word, brother.” Brownstone headed behind a counter, “You want pre-rolled, or a pipe ‘n grinder?”

“Pre-rolled,” Witch said, heading into the clinic and looking around passively. He observed the variety of chems in the room and tried desperately to ignore the way his right arm began to itch.

“I can fatten ‘em up to cigar size for an extra twenty-five caps.” The chem cook called over as he prepared his customer’s order, keeping an obvious eye on the Harbinger as he did.

“There are seventy-five there,” Witch reminded Brownstone, pausing by a shelving unit. “Why don’t you give me one regular batch and one of cigars.”

“A’ight man, they’re your caps…” The junkie picked out five regular sized and five cigar sized pre-rolled cigarette-like objects. Witch watched with thinly veiled impatience, but did his best to keep up his polite smile.

“Oh, hey, before I forget, Stitches was meaning to pick up some more Med-X. That’s medicinal, and it’s not for me. Can I take some of that to save her the trip?”

“Nope!” Brownstone drew out the word as he packaged Witch’s order, “You’re on the blacklist, which means under zero circumstances can I give ya chems of any sort.”

“Fine. You’ll just have to deal with _her_ then.” Witch shrugged. After a second, he tilted his head curiously, and pointed over Brownstone’s shoulder. “Hey, those Jet inhalers up there look different than the ones Banshee and I used to sell. New design, or is that a different chem?”

“Eh?” Brownstone glanced over his shoulder, turning back in time to see Witch pulling his feathered cloak more snugly around his shoulders.

“Yeah, some of those are Ultra Jet and some of them are Jet Fuel… gotta mark them differently so I don’t sell the wrong shit. And that one’s an Operator recipe that ain’t got shit to do with Jet… they call it ‘Smooth Operator’ because they ain’t shit for creativity.”

The Harbinger made a soft sound of derision, and took another drag from his cigarette. “‘Smooth Operator.’ Yikes. That’s the one I meant. Like I said, Moi- Banshee and I used to push chems ourselves.”

“Neat-o, but that might be why you’re on the blacklist.” Brownstone nodded, “Sampled your own shit too much?”

“Heh. I was hooked long before I started selling, and really, the problems started when we took to raiding... and had a decent amount of surplus left over.”

“Huh. I just cooked. A lot.” The chem cook shrugged, then his eyes narrowed on the cloaked man, “Hey… your fingers are twitchin’ man. Maybe you should get your shit here and smoke up.”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s probably not great for me to be around all this shit.” Witch ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll head out. Thanks, man.”

“No problem, keep the light.” Brownstone tossed the packages to the Harbinger. This time, Witch fumbled the catch slightly. Quickly tucking his purchase away, he nodded gratefully to Brownstone and took his leave.

As soon as Witch left the building, Brownstone flicked a switch below his counter and grabbed a receiver from a radio set.

“Code Periwinkle.”

“Details?”

“Ethnically ambiguous man, long hair, scar over the right eye, lots of feathers.”

“‘Ethnically...’ That’s… a little racist, isn’t it, Dirty Cephas?”

“Just fuckin’ intercept him.”

* * *

Witch’s hand kept straying to the pocket where he’d tucked his gains, eager to get back home and have some time to imbibe and unwind.

“Hey Witch,” Gage called as he descended the lift from the Fizztop Grille, “Hold up a minute!”

The Harbinger hesitated, but slowed to a halt and waited for Gage to approach. “What’s up?”

“Not much, just wondering if you wanted to grab a drink.” The one-eyed raider replied.

“Yeah!” Witch grinned, in spite of his anxiousness. “Yeah, I’d love that. What time?”

“I’m free now.”

“Ah... Well, I gotta check in with the Banshee, but maybe we could meet in an hour?”

“Oh, the Banshee can wait, right?” Gage stepped closer, setting his hands firmly on on Witch’s hips. The Harbinger felt his face flood with heat, and his usually collected and cool demeanor crumbled.

“U-uh... I... She’s... uh... not patient, but...”

“You two are close. She’ll forgive you playing hookie.” Gage leaned closer, his hands moving slowly up Witch’s body, before pausing. The right came away with a syringe of Psychojet. “But she’s not gonna be happy about this.”

“I- fuck. How did you-”

“We have our ways.” Gage smirked, “Of course, _this_ needs to go back to Brownstone, and Overboss Caldwell and the Banshee will be informed of this little relapse of your’s.”

“Don’t tell the Banshee,” Witch said immediately. His blush faded, leaving him pale. “Please, I promised her I’d stay clean.”

“We got policy and procedure to follow, Witch.” Gage shrugged, “But I’ll vouch for you and tell them you turned yourself in… Overboss’ll go easier on you, but you know your Banshee better than I do.”

“Why does she need to know?” Witch’s voice had taken on a pleading edge. “If she’s gonna find out, you might as well just let me actually do the damn chems.”

“Because she put you on the damn list-”

“She doesn’t get it. No one _fucking_ gets it. I just... I just need one fix. I just want to-” Witch caught himself, turning stoic.

“Want to _what_?” Gage demanded. Witch said nothing, his jaw clenching slightly. “Alright, I guess I’m going to visit the Banshee.”

“I want to See again.”

Gage stopped and turned around, “‘See’ again?”

“I used to be able to do it all the time. Chems made it easier, and then... eventually I needed them to do it at all. It’s been almost three years and I feel like a goddamn blind man.”

The two men stood in silence for a moment, “Witch-”

“There the _fuck_ you is!” Brownstone cursed as he shambled over with two of Caldwell’s agents, “Bitch, you thought you could shift a lil’ some-some from me?”

“I just turned myself in to Gage.” Witch broke their stare, turning towards Brownstone. “Old habits, man. My bad.”

“He did in fact turn himself in.” Gage confirmed with a nod, holding the syringe over to Brownstone. The chem dealer glanced between the two and took back his property.

“A’ight, cool, well, this homebody here-” Brownstone gestured to the agent on his left, “Is gonna let t’Overboss know about this lil’ mishap, and this homeboy here will escort you to your boss and let’er know what’cha did.”

“I’ll take him home.” Gage interjected, grabbing Witch by the bicep.

“A’ight, man, cool, cool, cool.” Brownstone bobbed his head rapidly, “Well, peace.”

“Yeah… see ya.” Gage nodded back. Witch wordlessly trailed after the Overboss’s second as the chem cook and his men split off in the opposite direction.

“ _I_ won’t say anything but I can’t promise anything about the Overboss.”

“Thanks.”

Gage planted his lips on the side of Witch’s head, “No problem.”

The Harbinger’s steps faltered, and he turned towards Gage in surprise. “What-”

The right hand of the Overboss said nothing, a tiny smile on his lips as he led Witch back to the Harbinger headquarters.

“What do you mean he’s not back?” Moira was just inside the door, speaking with Xian Jun. “He left before I did.”

“I’m right here.” Witch sighed. The Banshee turned, and looked between him and Gage.

“Hm. Well, if you’re... _busy_ , then don’t mind me,” she replied, crossing her arms. “My talk with Caldwell is exactly what you’d expect, threats disguised as warnings. Nothing to discuss.”

“Lovely.” Witch glanced at Gage. “So... good for drinks?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Cool. I’ll catch you later, Banshee.”

“Uh huh.” Moira’s eyes narrowed slightly, catching the odd tone to her second’s voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {Ethan and I actually played a game of Tic-Tac-Toe for that Mutant game. We tied. ~Swan}
> 
> RedEye played a cover of "What I Got" by Sublime to kick off the Raider half of the chapter.


	16. Horseshoes & Handgrenades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon, Simon, and Lily encounter the Brotherhood of Steel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Remember back in Chapter 10 when we had to raise the rating because of explicit content? Child's play. There's straight up smut in this one.
> 
> { >;3c }
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Green Day.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN**

**HORSESHOES & HANDGRENADES**

* * *

**January 15th, 2288.**

“So just how far is it to this Sanctuary Hills place?” Lilith asked, trailing a few steps behind Simon and Rhiannon as they left Diamond City.

“Well,” Simon pulled up his Pip-Boy and held his arm out so Lily could see, “The GPS has us… here, and Sanctuary is… up here.”

The mercenary gave a low whistle. “Well... good thing we started walking when we did.”

“Last time we cut around through Oberland Station, but this time we’re going straight over the bridge.” Simon tapped his screen, “As long as we don’t get spotted by the raiders on that shipwreck, we should be fine.”

“I can handle a few raiders, sugar.”

“But we can’t handle the delay.”

“We’ll make sure not to get sidetracked this time,” Rhiannon interjected, smiling a little as she looked back at the pair.

“We can certainly _try_.” Simon smiled back, “Trouble and distraction seem to find us fairly easily.”

“Are you two feeling okay?” Lilith looked between their smiles. “I was aware that we were having a rough morning, and now y’all are all smiles.”

“I’m good!” Simon responded quickly.

“Yeah, just eager to get home and get on with everything,” Rhiannon assured Lilith. The mercenary’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she finally shrugged.

“Alrighty.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat let out a little bark and licked Lilith’s fingers. Immediately, she scratched behind the dog’s ears.

“So, is anyone back in Sanctuary easier on the eyes than you are, sugar?” Lilith asked after close to half an hour of silent travel.

“…Wait, who are you talking to?” Simon asked after a few moments of silence.

“Either one of you, I guess.”

“Well, there’s Preston Garvey,” Simon shrugged, “Maybe Sturges?”

“You only say that because you don’t live in Sanctuary.” Rhiannon smirked.

“Where can I find you if I need you, then, sweetie?” Lily smiled at Simon.

“He lives in an old Red Rocket just across the bridge… we’ll have to pass it on the way in.” Rhiannon spoke up before Simon could respond. The mechanic gave a brief wide-eyed glare to the woman, who wore a tiny smirk in response.

“Sounds... cozy,” Lilith replied, trying to sound polite about the idea of living in a gas station when a perfectly good settlement was just down the road.

“Simon’s not really a people person.” Rhiannon tried to find the right words to use, “He likes to have space to himself.”

“I don’t live _completely_ alone!” Simon protested, “I have Percy!”

“Percy’s a robot. That you built.”

“Don’t sweat it, sugar. I prefer robots to people most of the time, myself.” Lilith clapped Simon on the shoulder, and gave a gentle squeeze.

“So do I, and look how _that_ turned out…” The mechanic rolled his eyes.

“So how’d you build him?” Lily continued eagerly. “I’m good at lots of shit, but I’m better at maintaining robotics than building from scratch.”

“Well… in the most basic… I mean…” Simon struggled to find the right way to explain, “I took an old Mr. Handy and took out two eyes and replaced them with Protectron arms and added legs.”

“But a hovering bot would be faster,” Lilith countered. “Why legs?”

“Because then he would be too top heavy and unable to carry large loads of scrap and junk.” Simon replied as they approached the bridge. Rhiannon had walked a few paces faster, realizing she was going to have to listen to Simon and Lily talk shop for the next few hours. Dogmeat trotted ahead to fall in step with her, tail wagging.

“Oh, gotcha.” The mercenary nodded. “But he’s gotta be slow, right? Have you thought about slimming the design?”

“Well, we’ve drafted out the concept of using Assaultron legs supplemented with hydraulic-”

“Hold up!” Rhiannon held an arm back, “I’m getting some kind of emergency radio broadcast.”

Simon and Lilith came to a halt, exchanging a glance. The mechanic and general both tuned their Pip-Boys, until the static cleared and the radio signal came through both sets of speakers, loud and clear.

_“This is Scribe Haylen of Reconnaissance Squad Gladius to any unit in transmission range. Authorization Arx. Ferrum. Nine. Five. Our unit has sustained casualties and we're running low on supplies. We're requesting support or evac from our position at Cambridge Police Station. Automated message repeating…”_

“Cambridge Police Station isn’t far from here.” Rhiannon pointed in a direction, “We gotta go help ‘em!”

“What happened to us not getting distracted?” Lilith scoffed.

“Bark!” Dogmeat barked at Lilith.

“Hey, don’t take that tone with me! I’m getting paid to watch your master’s ass, not to rescue a bunch of randos with a radio.”

“We can’t just leave them!” Rhiannon turned on Lilith, “So if money’s your motivation, then you’d better come with me if you want any.”

“Criminy. _Fine_.” The mercenary rolled her eyes. “We’ll go save the fucking damsels in distress.”

With urging from Rhiannon and Dogmeat, the group rushed in the direction of the Cambridge Police Station. As they approached their destination, the sounds of gunfire grew louder and louder. Taking a route through some alleyways, the party of four came upon the scene of the crime; three figures, one in power armor, fought to prevent their fortifications from being overrun by feral ghouls.

“Check your fire, we have civilians incoming!” The man in power armor shouted to his comrades.

“Great! Just what we needed!” An injured man with a laser rifle cursed as he lay against the doorframe of the police station.

“We’re here to help!” Rhiannon called as she sprayed bullets at the approaching horde.

“Shit!” Simon cursed as he swerved around a feral ghoul and headed for the raised barricade, “Hey, I still have some grenades, should I-”

“Is he proficient with explosives?” The man in power armor asked.

“I don’t know, I didn’t even know he had any until-”

“Bombs away!” Simon called as he pulled the pin and tossed the grenade up the street at a collection of approaching ferals. The explosion tore them to shreds, with survivors missing a limb or two.

Lilith said nothing, a look of intense concentration on her face as she took quick but careful aim, firing thrice into each ghoul she could get a proper aim on, until they fell to her bullets. She’d felled about four, when one she hadn’t seen tackled her from behind while she reloaded. The merc let out a startled scream, her pipe pistol clattering to the ground.

“Shit!” Rhiannon cursed rushing over to assist by kicking the irradiated creature in the head in an attempt to stun it. After about five kicks, the ghoul reeled back enough for her to spray bullets into it without harming Lily. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah, thanks to you.” Lily got to her feet, still shaken. Grabbing up her pistol, she holstered it, and grabbed Alice from her side. “Fuck it though, I’m getting personal.”

“Watch it, civilian!” The soldier warned as she hefted the baseball bat, “Be careful you don’t get into the line of fire.”

“If you tin cans can aim your guns properly, I’ll be fine.” Lily swung her bat at another feral as it rushed towards her and Rhiannon, the crooked nails tearing half its face to shreds on the first hit.

“What the fuck has these ferals gunning for us?” Simon shouted from his vantage point as he fired on the ghouls below him, “A horde this big has to- oh _shit_.”

“Has to what?” Rhiannon called back, before firing her submachine gun into a pair of ghouls as they scrambled into the courtyard.

“Behemoth!” Simon pointed down the road where a hulking green creature stomped towards them, the ghouls running in fear from its mighty steps. “ _Please_ tell me you tin cans have some big fucking guns!”

“Sure, let me just pull a Fat Man out of my ass-”

“Rhys! That’s enough!” The lead soldier turned around to chastise his subordinate, “Focus fire on the Behemoth!”

With the number of feral ghouls dwindling rapidly, the soldiers turned their attention to fire upon the enormous Super Mutant that lumbered down the street. Simon began to panic, dropping to the floor and curling into a ball.

“Get up, sugar!” Lilith shouted, though her hands were shaking as she backed away, once more drawing her pipe pistol. “We have to keep moving, and firing!”

“Simon, she’s right!” Rhiannon agreed, rushing to his side. “Come on!”

“We’re going to die.” Simon repeated in a monotone mantra.

“I’m getting paid to keep you alive, so no the fuck we ain’t,” Lilith insisted. She and Rhiannon each grabbed Simon by an arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Danse! We don’t have the ordinance to bring that ugly down!” A woman called as she fired at the lumbering giant with a laser pistol, “What do we do?”

“Wait.” Simon snapped back to reality, “That bus hasn’t exploded.”

“Simon, come on!” Rhiannon pulled the mechanic towards the police station.

“If I put all my grenades in the engine… the engine is like a mini nuclear reactor, the explosion might be enough to kill it!” Simon pulled out of Rhiannon and Lilith’s grasp, jumping over the balcony and rushing for the ruined bus.

“Simon!” Rhiannon screamed after him, moving to run after, but Lilith grabbed her arm.

“No, he’s right! We’ll just be in the way, let’s do what we can to buy him time!’

“Haylen, get Rhys inside!” the lead soldier called back as he approached the front lines. Haylen hesitated, but gently guided her injured comrade into the building.

“Ad Victorium!” Danse shouted as he fired upon the Behemoth.

Inside the bus, Simon pulled and pried open panels until he found the semi-dormant engine of the machine. Carefully binding together a bundle of grenades and tying a bit of string around the pins, the mechanic duct taped the package to the engine. Searching around, he came across one more stroke of luck: a gas container that still had some fuel in it. Simon splashed the gasoline across the floor of the bus leading to the open panels and fled.

“Alright, when I pull this string, or throw a Molotov, or fuckin’ _something_ , then that thing should go up!”

“Got it,” Lily called back, digging around in her pockets for something she could use.

“Are we far enough back?!” Rhiannon shouted.

“No we absolutely are not!” Simon stared at the approaching beast, who had made a weapon from an old telephone pole and roared in rage with each laser bolt that struck it, “Hopefully it’ll get close enough and we can run and gun or something!”

“Fall back, civilians!” Danse called as the monster approached, “Into the police station!”

“Look out!” Simon pointed as the Behemoth punched into the ground and grabbed a slab of asphalt, “Get down!”

As they scrambled backwards, the mutated creature let out another bellowing roar, and hurled the slab towards Rhiannon and Lilith.

“Shit!” The mercenary gave the general a hard shove, sending her stumbling several feet out of the way. Diving after her, the asphalt smashed into the earth just as Lily rolled aside and back to her feet, narrowly missed. “Do what the can says! Back to the station!”

“This way!” The soldier seemed to ignore the nickname he’d been bestowed as he ushered the group towards shelter. Simon, however, remained near the barricade, tightly gripping his pipe revolver.

“Come on, Simon!” Rhiannon shouted, noticing he wasn’t following.

“I’m gonna make sure this bomb goes off!” He called back as stones at his feet began to jump and wobble from the giant’s approach.

“That’s suicide!” Lilith called, starting to head in his direction again.

“You’re being paid to keep _her_ alive, so fucking do it!” Simon snapped, “Go!”

The mercenary hesitated, then cursed under her breath. Turning back, she grabbed Rhiannon’s arms and pulled her for the station doors. “Come on, keep moving, General.”

“Move!” Danse ordered, all but pushing the women into the police station.

“But-” Rhiannon attempted to argue, as she heard Simon shouting obscenities at the creature, accompanied by a few gunshots. Trying to look around Danse, she caught sight of the mechanic getting the Behemoth’s attention, running for the bus, and then-

_BOOM!_

For a moment, Rhiannon couldn’t hear anything, and certainly couldn’t see anything but ash, fire, and smoke. For a moment she was overlooking Sanctuary Hills again as the first bomb hit Boston. The ringing in her ears, the screams that sounded so close and so far all at once. Then she realized someone _was_ screaming beside her.

Danse was holding Lilith back with one arm as the woman frantically tried to rush out into the clouds of smoke and ash that had now filled the street. However, she couldn’t hope to match the grip of the man’s power armor. At her side, Dogmeat was cowering, his ears flat against his head from the sound of the blast, but after a moment, he whined. The German Shepherd’s ears then stood up, and he suddenly rushed out past them, barking loudly.

“Dogmeat!” Rhiannon shouted, reaching a hand out for the runaway. The street where the dog raced towards was full of smoke and flame, and he quickly disappeared into it. “Dogmeat!”

After a minute of watching as the wind blew the air clean, Dogmeat finally returned, a man at his heels. Rhiannon stared in disbelief as the dog carefully led Simon from the smoke and back towards the police station. After a moment, she rushed out to them, throwing her arms around Simon in a tight embrace.

“Rhiannon, you’re crushing me.” Simon gasped, “And I’m getting shit all over you.”

“You’re alive,” was all Rhiannon said, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Not if you keep squeezing me like that.”

Rhiannon finally let him go, just as Lily reached them and took her place, hugging Simon with all her might.

“You’re a stupid fucking genius!”

“Please stop crushing my chest.” Simon gasped, barely catching his breath before Lilith latched onto him.

“That was a very brave thing you did, civilian.” Danse congratulated him as he approached, “We appreciate the assistance, but what’s your business here?”

“We answered your distress call.” Rhiannon responded.

“Are you from a local settlement?” Danse asked.

“Do these questions really matter?” Simon asked, finally detaching himself from Lily, “After all, we just helped you fight off those ferals, and I nearly killed myself to kill that behemoth.”

“This will be much easier for all of us if you cooperate.” The soldier in power armor frowned, “Where are you from?”

“Sanctuary Hills, on the other side of Concord.” Rhiannon answered.

“Ah, yes, I’ve seen the location on our maps, but I’ve never visited the area myself.” Danse replied as Haylen peeked out of the police station, “If I appear suspicious, our mission here has been difficult. Since the moment we arrived in the Commonwealth, we’ve been constantly under fire. If you want to continue pitching in, we could use an extra gun on our side.”

“I don’t know about you ladies, but I think I need to go home and lie down and not think about the fact that I almost died today.” Simon shook his head.

“I’m on payroll, so whatever you two want me to do.” Lilith looked to Rhiannon reluctantly. It was clear from her expression she agreed with Simon, but was willing to subject herself to Rhiannon’s decision.

“I’d like to continue to help, but you owe us some explanations first.” Rhiannon responded after a brief glance to her friends.

“Very well. I’m Paladin Danse of the Brotherhood of Steel.” Danse started, “At the door is Scribe Haylen, and inside recovering is Knight Rhys.”

“Oh, not _these_ fucks…” Simon muttered quietly.

Danse continued, not having heard Simon’s comment, “We’re on recon duty, but we’re down a man and our supplies are running low. I’ve been trying to send a distress call to my superiors, but our signal is too weak to reach them.”

“Sir, if I may?” Haylen spoke up.

“Proceed, Haylen.”

“I’ve modified the radio tower on the roof of the police station, but I’m afraid it just isn’t enough…” Haylen elaborated, “What we need is something that will boost the signal.”

“Our target is ArcJet Systems. It contains the technology we need: a deep range transmitter. We infiltrate the facility, secure the transmitter, and bring it back here. What do you say? Are you willing to lend the Brotherhood of Steel a hand?” Danse asked the group.

“Well… Simon’s in no shape to assist…” Rhiannon looked over to the haggard mechanic, “Lily, could you get him home safely?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Lily looked nervously to Danse. “But I dunno if or when we’ll be able to fix that tower for y’all.”

“We can handle the repairs ourselves.” Danse attempted to ease her, “The issue is a lack of manpower to go after the transmitter.”

“I’ll stay behind and help Danse get the parts he needs, and in exchange, maybe you can escort me back to safer territory?” Rhiannon asked.

“That seems like a fair arrangement.” Danse nodded.

“Do you want us to send Preston or someone out here to help you?” Simon offered.

“Maybe let him know that I’m on my way and what I’m doing, but that’s about it.” Rhiannon replied, “I’ll see you at Sanctuary?”

“Yeah. I’ll just be taking it easy for a couple days.” Simon sighed, “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” Rhiannon promised. “I’ll see you soon.”

The general pulled the mechanic into another hug, careful not to squeeze hard enough for him to complain.

“Take care of him, Lily.”

“Will do.” The mercenary gave Rhiannon a casual salute. “And you take care of Dogmeat, alright?”

“Bark!”

“More like the other way around…” Rhiannon giggled.

“Either way,” Lily grinned. She knelt down and gave the German Shepherd some last scratches and pets along his sides. He licked across her face and she pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Be a good boy.”

“Woof!”

“Alright, civilian.” Danse addressed Rhiannon, “Head on into the station to resupply and let me know when you’re ready to begin.”

* * *

“So, I need to warn you,” Simon spoke up as he and Lily passed through Concord, “Percy can be… well, he’s… a character.”

“That’s fine,” Lily said with a shrug. “I’ve always prefered bots with personality.”

“Maybe, but he has a… well, a pretty big personality.” Simon scratched the back of his neck, grimacing when his fingers came back black, “Fuckin’ hell, I _just_ took a shower at Vault 81…”

“If you boil water it’ll get _most_ of the rads and shit out of it. That’s a decent way to keep clean.”

“I live in a gas station, there’s nowhere to really put a tub.”

“Use a cloth,” Lilith replied with a shrug. “It’s easy... I can even give you a hand with the harder to reach places, sugar.”

“I…” Simon’s voice trailed off nervously before a familiar eye poked out from behind a billboard.

“Ah, Master Lopez! It has certainly been some time! And you’ve brought a guest?! Come, I’ll put some food on and fetch some Nuka Cola for you and your friend!” Percy called before turning to get to work.

“…So that’s Percival.” Simon gestured to the automatron. Lilith was beaming.

“He’s great!”

“Until you _live_ with him.” Simon mumbled.

“You know I might be able to help reprogram a bit of his AI if you want,” Lilith suggested, following after the robot.

“No offense… but I’d rather you didn’t muck around with his programming.” The mechanic replied as he led her into the old gas station, “But make yourself at home… or at least I _think_ that’s what I’m supposed to say in this situation?”

“Yeah... I was kidding, I can’t reprogram shit.” Lily headed into the gas station, looking around. “Just proving to you that you like him more than you want to admit.”

“Oh, ha ha.” Simon rolled his eyes, “You’re _so_ clever.”

“I know.” Lily shrugged off her trench coat, tossing it onto the couch before doing the same to herself. “Hey, this is pretty comfy.”

“Ah yes,” Percival entered the room from the garage, “Master Simon and I hauled that old thing up from Concord shortly after we moved in!”

“Good find,” Lily praised, smiling at the robot. “I’m Lilith, by the way. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Percival Frankenstein Von Newton Archimedes DeRobo, Mark One-Point-Three.” The robot set a pair of Nuka Colas on the counter, “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lilith.”

“Simon give you all those fancy names?” Lilith raised an eyebrow.

“No.” Simon slowly covered his face with his hands, “He-”

“Well, Master Lopez decided to call me Percival DeRobo as a joke, but after a stop in which I perused a library, I decided to give myself a more unique string of names based upon assorted scientists, philosophers, and literary figures. The mark is Simon’s doing, to keep track of how many major and minor revisions have been done to my design.”

“Well, I think it suits you, Percy.” Lily leaned over to grab her cola. “Good choices.”

“Thank you, miss.” Percival replied with a little bob of his eye stalk, “Is Radstag stew a good selection for your supper this evening?”

“Yes, absolutely!” Simon’s head snapped in Percy’s direction, “And boil an extra pot of water, I need to clean some of this dirt off me.”

“I didn’t want to call attention to it, but now that you mention-”

“I almost died today Percy, I don’t want to hear it right now.”

“Whatever you say, Master Lopez.” The robot stomped off to prepare the meal.

“I like him,” Lilith said immediately, as Percival left the room.

“Of course you do.” Simon rolled his eyes.

* * *

“It was corporations like this that put the last nail in the coffin for mankind,” Danse declared as he looked around the ruined front lobby of ArcJet, “They exploited technology for their own gains, pocketing the cash and ignoring the damage they’d done.”

After listening to the man spout the virtues of the Brotherhood of Steel, the nature of his mission in the Commonwealth, and now his personal musings… Rhiannon had the feeling that Danse simply liked to hear the sound of his own voice.

Still, she gave a small hum of agreement. After all, this latest statement was in line with her beliefs… save the Paladin’s fixation on technology. She’d taken part in several legal battles on behalf of clients who sought to sue large companies like ArcJet for all sorts of corruption and misdeeds, though they rarely ever won against the corporate giants who could throw cash at the judge and jury until they saw things their way.

“Look at these wrecks,” Danse pointed to a number of disassembled Protectrons, “It appears that the facility’s automated systems have been dealt with.”

“…I can see that.” Rhiannon deadpanned, trying her hardest not to add ‘Paladin Obvious’ to the end of her sentence. Dogmeat was a little less tactful, perhaps, snorting as he followed Rhiannon through and into the next room.

“Damn it, I was hoping to avoid this.” Danse continued, barely acknowledging that Rhiannon had spoken, “Look at the evidence: there isn’t a single spent casing of ammunition or a single drop of blood in sight. These robots were assaulted by Institute Synths.”

“The Institute?” Rhiannon felt her blood run cold for a moment, and then begin to boil.

“They’re a group of-”

“No, I mean... their Synths were here? You’re sure.”

“Positive.” Danse scoffed. “Their Synths are an abuse of technology. Abominations, meant to ‘improve’ upon humanity. It’s unacceptable. They simply can’t be allowed to exist.”

Rhiannon felt another chill sweep through her, this time as her thoughts turned to Valentine. It was a damn good thing that she’d separated from him before meeting up with the Brotherhood. She also had a gut feeling Simon would probably have words for Danse, but all she said was, “I’ll be on the lookout.”

“Roger that. Let’s move out.” Danse turned and headed through the door across the room. Rhiannon was more hesitant now to follow after, but after Dogmeat bumped against her hand with his nose, whining in concern, she headed on as well.

“This place is a mess, but I still see some salvage that the Brotherhood might be interested in.” Danse commented as he passed through the hall and glanced over the adjoining room. “After we’re done, I’ll have to mark this place for ‘sweep and retrieve.’”

“Woof!” Dogmeat pulled his head out of a drawer, a dusty human femur between his jaws. His tail wagged rapidly as he began to chew on it.

“Dogmeat, drop it,” Rhiannon said, once she recognized what he held in his teeth. The German Shepherd whined, the wagging of his tail slowing to a halt. After a moment, he let it clatter to the floor, and returned to Rhiannon’s side. “We’ll... find you something better to chew on, boy.”

“Looks like a dead end.” Paladin Danse observed as he entered the next room. Aside from their entry point, the only door clear of rubble was sealed. “See if you can find a way to get that door open. I’m going to reconnoiter the area.”

“Get the-” Rhiannon looked around a little helplessly. There were a few terminals still intact, and she made her way to them. Powering up the closest revealed nothing of use, and the second was locked, needing to be hacked. “Shit.”

Rhiannon had once been good at guessing passwords, but those were from people she was familiar with. Who knows what would have been relevant to whomever originally operated this terminal. After several minutes and some swearing, Rhiannon gained access to the menu.

“Aha! Got it.” She made quick work of navigating to the door controls, and in moments the other exit had audibly unlocked and slid open.

“Nice work.” Danse turned back towards Rhiannon.

“Movement detected.”

As the door opened, a mannequin-like creature snapped its head in the direction of the pair. It drew a white and red laser pistol, firing blue bolts at them while three more moved to assist it.

“Synths!” Danse cursed, pulling up his laser rifle and returning fire, “Destroy them!”

Rhiannon ducked under the desk just in time to be missed by several blasts. She drew her submachine gun, took a deep breath, and then popped up and opened fire. Her bullets tore through two of the synths, while Danse aimed his attacks at the others.

“Hello.” The deep, monotone voice of a Synth, preceded a sudden blow to the side of Rhiannon’s head. But the weight of the strike was amplified by an agonizing jolt as the woman’s muscles all tensed and locked into place.

Dogmeat barked and snarled, pouncing on the Synth. His teeth clamped around the foe’s arm, dragging the baton that crackled with electricity away from Rhiannon.

“Bad dog.” The Synth chastised, “Return the property you have stolen to-”

The Synth’s tirade was cut short by three bolts of energy that cut through its torso. Danse stomped over to Rhiannon, holding his hand out, “Are you okay, civilian?”

“Y-yeah, I think so.” Rhiannon shook her head slightly and looked down at the baton on the ground. Carefully, she picked it up, turning it over. A small button on the handle sat right beneath her thumb, and pressing it, she found the rest of the baton crackled with the same high voltage that had stunned her.

“That weapon may prove useful in dispatching those Synths. You should hold onto it.” Danse advised.

“Oh, yeah.” Rhiannon let it crackle to life once more. After a moment, she teasingly poked it at Danse. The Paladin gave her a disapproving glare, before moving on.

“There will certainly be more of them further in. Be on your guard.”

“You’re no fun,” Rhiannon muttered, but drew her 10mm pistol in her right hand.

“By order of The Institute-”

A Synth poked its head out of a hole in the wall, only to be blasted by Danse before it could finish its threat.

“Hostiles detected.” A second Synth declared.

“Another dungeon crawl,” Rhiannon sighed, taking aim and firing into the second synth’s head.

* * *

“And he can cook,” Lily appraised, setting her empty bowl aside after her second helping of stew. “He’s perfect. We should bring him out with us on our next adventure.”

“Well,” Simon gave it a little thought, “I’d rather have him watching the place than in harm’s way. At least for now. With the right upgrades, however…”

“Yeah.” The mercenary leaned back against the couch with a satisfied sigh. “Now I’m ready to sleep for a week.”

“I feel that.” Simon agreed, “Hey, Percy?”

“Yes?” The robot’s voice called from the garage.

“Can you deliver a message to Preston for us?”

“Of course, sir! What would you like to say?”

“Let him know that Rhiannon will be coming back soon, she’s just helping out some people staying in the Cambridge Police Station.”

“Of course, sir. I’ve taken your pot of hot water down, by the way. It should cool enough for you to use shortly.”

“Thank you, Percy!”

“You’re welcome, Master Simon.”

The banter between robot and creator ended and Percival’s stubby Protectron legs carried him towards Sanctuary Hills.

“My offer stands, sugar,” Lily teased, rolling up her trench coat like a pillow for herself.

“…We’ll… we’ll see.” Simon replied, a nervous shake in his voice as he headed to the garage with a bucket and a rag. Lily chuckled to herself and settled down comfortably onto the couch, trying not to think too hard about the situation she was poking fun at.

It was nice having a roof over her head, and a decent place to sleep, the merc mused to herself as she heard a soft splash in the other room. Goodneighbor didn’t exactly have the best accommodations, and while she didn’t mind camping in the middle of nowhere, MacCready wasn’t a big fan of not having walls, and reminded her of it constantly.

After a moment, Lilith could hear the sound of the large garage door closing. Apparently the mechanic had decided that he wasn’t going to bring water into his bedroom. Lily stared up at the water-stained ceiling above her for a moment, before getting to her feet and beginning to browse over Simon’s shelves and belongings curiously.

* * *

“Watch your footing,” Danse warned, the headlight on his helmet blinking on, “It looks like the power’s out in this section.”

 _‘No shit,_ ’ Rhiannon mouthed, rolling her eyes as she trailed a few steps behind the more heavily armored man.

“Look at this place! The scribes would have a field day in here!” Danse exclaimed as they stepped onto the catwalk of the engine core, “The transmitter should be in the control room at the top of the core, but it looks like the elevator’s dead. We’ll have to try to find a way to get the facility’s power back online.”

“Any ideas?” Rhiannon asked as they headed further down the ramps to the bottom of the chamber.

“There has to be a power backup system somewhere. Scout out the maintenance chamber, I’ll remain here and watch our backs, in case more Synths show up.”

“Right,” Rhiannon muttered. She and Dogmeat began to head down a side tunnel. “Because there definitely won’t be any more Synths where I’m going. Alone. By myself.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat barked softly to remind her she was not, in fact, entirely alone. Rhiannon held up her pistol to remind Dogmeat that he didn’t have a gun.

Coming upon the control room, Rhiannon and Dogmeat glanced around. Through a window, she could see Danse dutifully patrolling, his gun raised and ready for any Synths that would drop down from the catwalk.

“Bark!” Dogmeat put both of his paws up on a table where a large, strange object lay. Judging by the trigger mechanism, it was possibly meant to be some kind of weapon; its purpose and origin could likely be explained by the holotape beside it.

“Simon could take a look at this.” Rhiannon hefted the heavy weapon, “What do you think?”

“Woof!”

“Yeah, let’s bring it back to him.” Rhiannon nodded as she packed away the jury-rigged weapon with her belongings.

In the next room, a few generators lie next to a terminal. Sitting down in front of it, the general let out another curse when it prompted her for a password.

“Fuck... Okay, let’s see here...” Rhiannon ran through a few possibilities, trying random combinations, until she sighed. “1111- oh wow. That worked.”

Searching through the ‘power options’ menu, Rhiannon selected the option to start up the auxiliary generators.

“Engine core power: restored.” A mechanical voice notified them, “Thermal engine: fueled, primed, and standing by for your command.”

When Rhiannon turned around, she could see waves upon waves of Synths dropping from the ceiling and firing upon Danse.

“Oh shit.” Rhiannon jumped out of her seat and rushed over to the window. She slammed her hand onto the button beneath it, and then opened fire into the adjacent room to try and shatter the window. But the bullets had no effect on the glass.

“Command accepted.” The computerized voice affirmed, “Commencing five second countdown.”

Rhiannon’s eyes dropped to the label under the button, properly reading it. ‘ _Engine Start._ ’

Oh _shit_.

“Five… four… three…”

“Danse, move!” Rhiannon tried desperately to shout through the glass.

“Two… one…”

“Fuck.”

“Engine firing.”

A column of flame slammed down into the floor, instantly incinerating the attacking Synths. Danse fell to his knees. Without another thought, Rhiannon raced back down the hallway.

“Test firing completed with an efficiency rating of ninety-six point seven percent.” The computer announced.

“Oh my God, are you alright?!”

“Got… cooked by those flames… but thanks to my power armor, I’m in one piece.” Danse managed to get out as he staggered to his feet, “The important thing is that we’re still alive… and we have a way to get to the transmitter. Give me a moment for my suit to inject some stimpacks into my system, and then we’ll get going.”

“R-right...” Rhiannon still wore a look of concern. She had very little experience with power armor, but it still seemed that a blast like that would have killed anyone else. Still, she was awfully glad to not have that on her conscience.

Taking a moment to grab any ammunition that survived the blast, Rhiannon joined Danse at the elevator. Taking it back up to the top, the ascended the final section of the catwalk and entered the control room.

“Hostile sensor readings detected.”

“You must be terminated.”

“More of these assholes?” Rhiannon charged up the shock baton, just in time to bring it across the face of a Synth that rushed for Danse.

“For the Brotherhood!” Danse shouted as he fired back at the Synths, slowly advancing to give Rhiannon some cover behind his armored frame.

The general took full advantage of this, even taking the time to switch back to her bigger gun and mow down the attackers. Synths fell left and right, each with some form of monotonous pre-programed phrase relating to the combat scenario.

“I hope that’s the last of them…” Danse sighed as the last Synth fell, “I don’t see the device anywhere. Maybe one of the-”

“Woof!” Dogmeat barked to draw their attention to the body of a Synth, the Deep Range Transmitter still in its skeletal, metal fingers.

“Good find,” Danse complimented the dog as he retrieved the device, “We can take the service elevator back up to the surface.”

* * *

“Hey, Lilith?”

“Jesus!” The mercenary nearly jumped out of her skin at Simon’s voice. The slightly cloudy snow globe she had been turning over in her hands was almost dropped in her surprise. Catching it, Lilith set the glass-encased depiction of some town called ‘Goodsprings’ back on the shelf. She turned towards the garage. “Yeah, sugar?”

“…I might need your help after all.” Simon called from the other room, “I can’t get my back.”

Rolling her eyes, but smiling, Lily headed into the garage. She held out a hand for the rag. “Sure thing.”

Simon dunked the rag into the hot water a few times, then passed it back to Lily, “Thanks.”

“N-no problem.” Lilith supposed she should have realized that a mechanic would be well-muscled, but she still had to snap her eyes away from Simon’s abdomen. Stepping around behind him, she began to scrub at the grime between his shoulder blades.

Lilith found she had to dig in a little to erase the dirt and ash left by the explosion that Simon had survived, and one hand rested on his shoulder to hold him still. But Simon made little to no sign of discomfort, and seemed to relax under her touch. The mercenary slowly let her fingers trail down his arm, along the lines of his muscles.

“That’s my arm.” Simon deadpanned.

“Sure is.” Lily tried to sound nonchalant.

“You can’t take it. I need the both of them.”

“Well, shit. You know how much arms go for on the black market? You’re so selfish.”

“Not nearly as much as legs. You don’t see me trying to take yours.”

“The real money is in organ harvesting,” Lilith laughed. The hand on his back trailed a little lower. “Like... a kidney or two.”

“Uhh… now I’m confused and a little nervous.” Simon’s head turned back towards Lily.

“I’m just teasing you, sugar.” Lily dropped the rag into the bucket and rested her hand against his back again.

“Oh, thank God.” Simon sighed, letting his head drop for a moment.

“You’re all clean, by the way. So I should probably...” Lily let her fingers linger as she took a small step back.

“Uhh, yeah…?” Simon still looked confused, “Wait, are you flirting with me?”

“…Only since the day after we met. Thanks for noticing.”

“Does that mean…” Simon stood up, his shirt and hat still hanging off the arms of the power armor modification station framework, “Sorry, I’m not really used to being flirted with or any of that. I mean, I’m not saying ‘no,’ I’m just not sure how to respond.”

“Yes or no; do you want to have sex?”

“ _Oh_ …” Simon’s mouth formed a little ‘o’ as clarification finally came. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” Lily smirked. Simon walked over and took the mercenary’s hand.

“I mean, ‘yes.’” He replied as he led her towards his room.

“That’s better, sugar.” Lily used the hand currently held in hers to pull Simon to a halt.

“Uhh… there’s… open windows…” Simon pointed with his free hand, “And my room… has a door…”

“We’ll get to your room real soon.” Lily leaned in and trailed a few open-mouthed kisses along Simon’s jaw and down his neck. “I just wanna get all warmed up.”

“I’m not opposed to that, I’d just rather not be out in the open. Where my robot could see. Because God knows of all the things he comments on, my sex life is _not_ one I want him talking about.” Simon attempted to maintain a straight face.

“Whatever you want, sugar.” Lilith pulled the mechanic into his room, and immediately shoved him up against the wall. Now in a more comfortable space, Simon kissed Lily back, a hand trailing into her hair. Lily’s hands moved slowly down Simon’s torso, a pleased hum escaping her at the feel of his skin under fingers.

“Whatever _I_ want?” Simon breathed between kisses, “But what do _you_ want?”

“I want to make you cum so hard you see stars,” she murmured back, punctuating the statement with a small bite on his lower lip.

“…Jesus Christ.” Simon’s eyes widened for a moment. Lily smiled and kissed him again.

“Unless you want me to be soft and sweet? I’m good with whatever.”

“Maybe this time, yeah.” Simon replied, “I mean… is it okay if I dictate the pace a little bit, in case I feel like roughing it up later?”

“Sure thing.” Lily nodded understandingly. Her fingers ghosted over his skin now as they dipped into the waist of his pants. “You just tell me what you want.”

“What if I don’t know?” Simon asked, the hand in her hair trailing down to her cheek.

“Then just tell me to stop if I do something you don’t like.” The mercenary unbuttoned Simon’s jeans, and slowly unzipped them. Her other hand slid into the front of his pants, gently stroking along his length.

“Can you-” Simon hesitated, “Y’know…”

“I _don’t_ know, sugar. Use your words.”

“Blow me.”

“Yeah, I can do that.” Lily laughed softly, capturing his lips in a slow kiss as she finished pushing his jeans down over his hips. Her mouth, open, the tongue moving against his skin as she left a trail of kisses down his neck, chest, stomach, and finally across his hips. “Just say please.”

“Please, Lily.”

Without any more hesitation, Lilith ran the flat of her tongue along the underside of Simon’s cock, before taking the head into her mouth. The mechanic let out a quiet gasp and his chest lurched slightly. “Oh my God…”

Lilith kept her eyes on Simon’s face to be sure he was enjoying her work. One hand wrapped around his base, slowly stroking in time as her head began to bob, taking more of Simon past her lips with each movement.

“Holy shit… hooooly _shit_.” Simon’s hand sought out something to steady him, managing to find purchase on a filing cabinet. Lilith fought the urge to smile, instead giving a soft hum to further stimulate him. After a few more bobs of her head, Lilith began to suck on the member that filled her mouth.

“You’re… uhh… really good at this…” Simon managed to speak, but paled when he realized the way his words could be mistaken, “I mean-”

Lilith pulled back, unable to stop the laughter that spilled out of her at the statement. Once she’d regained her composure, she shook her head a little. “Well, thanks. You want more?”

“Well, yes, but too much more and this’ll end early.” Simon gave a nervous smile, “Do you want to get on top?”

“I can do that,” Lily said, standing back up. She began to unbuckle the straps of pocketed leather armor she wore, dropping them into a pile. “Or you could fuck me into that mattress.”

“Uhh, you can start on top.” Simon shimmied out of his jeans. Lily nodded, and finished removing her armor, before stripping out of her boots and pants, left in nothing but her bra.

“Well, then go lay down, sugar.”

“Take that off first.” Simon snapped the mercenary’s bra strap. Lily’s eyebrows raised and she did as he asked, letting the final garment drop on the pile with the rest of her clothing.

“Yes, sir,” she said with a hint of amusement. Trying to shake off the vague sense of discomfort at being called ‘sir,’ Simon lay down on the bed.

“Come on, then, _sugar_.”

Lily’s smile widened further to hear him turn her pet name around on her. Crossing the room, she joined him on the bed, straddling the mechanic. After another moment of letting her fingers run along his length, she guided him to her entrance, but paused. “How do you want it?”

“Yes.” Simon breathed.

“ _How_ do you want it?” Lily repeated herself, but gently began to lower her hips, the tip of him just beginning to push inside of her. “Slow, fast, soft, hard?”

“Oh.” Simon frowned at himself, “How about a slow-ish, soft start and build up?”

“Gotcha.” Lily moved slowly, a moan escaping her as she sank down on Simon’s cock, savoring the way it felt stretching and filling her. “Fuck...”

“Are you okay with all this?”

“Oh yeah,” Lily sighed, nodding. “Yeah, it’s good. You?”

“Yeah.” Simon breathed, reaching up to cup one of her breasts, “Anything you want me to do while you’re on me?”

“Y-yeah, if you want to use your mouth instead of your hand there.”

“Then come down here.” Simon’s hand trailed further up to the back of Lilith’s neck and pulled her mouth towards his. She kissed him eagerly once their lips met, and set a leisurely pace with her hips. When they broke away, one of Simon’s hands found a place on her back while the other helped pull one of her breasts towards his mouth and tongue.

“Yes, Simon, please,” Lily breathed, the next movement of her hips landing a little harder than the ones prior.

“You like this?” Simon asked, trying not to sound unsure.

“Yeah,” Lily encouraged him eagerly, her pace increasing slightly.

“Can you go faster?” Simon asked, switching the breast he was giving attention to. Lilith nodded, making no verbal reply beyond a breathless moan. But her pace increased, riding him more quickly and with a little more force.

“Lily…” The mechanic sighed, “Holy shit…”

“Fuck... Simon...” One of Lily’s hands reached up to tangle in his hair, needing an anchor, while the other still rested against his ribs, where it had been since they started. Suddenly, Simon thrust up into her and pushed Lilith onto her back. The mercenary released a gasp, that faded to an involuntarily loud moan.

“Wait, was that not okay?” Simon’s face turned a little pale with worry.

“That was _great_ ,” Lily assured him quickly. “Don’t stop.”

Once again emboldened, Simon continued to thrust into Lily, alternating between kissing various places on her chest, around her neck and collar, and her lips. Lilith’s moans, and breaths of “yes,” and “Simon,” were clear encouragement. She rocked her hips to meet his thrusts, feeling her pleasure beginning to build.

“Lily-” Simon started pausing to kiss the mercenary, “Are you…”

“Yeah, almost,” Lily replied. The fingers in his hair had tightened. “Please, harder...”

“I’m almost…” Simon attempted to thrust harder, “Where…?”

“Wherever,” Lily answered, a little too consumed in how good he felt to really think beyond each thrust. “God, Simon... Simon...”

“…Wherever?” Simon desperately sought clarification while their climaxes rapidly approached.

“On me, whatever,” Lily moaned, her fingernails digging into the mechanic’s side. “Shit, I’m about to-”

The rest of her sentence was lost to a gasping moan as her orgasm hit, rushing through her veins like ice and fire at once. Moments later, Simon pulled out barely in time to ejaculate across her torso. Still gasping, Lily fell back against the bed, grinning.

“Fuck, that was good.”

“Yeah.” Simon sighed as he struggled to catch his breath, “It’s… it’s been awhile since I last…”

“I can tell,” Lily teased, gesturing to the mess he’d left across her body. “But damn... _damn_.”

“I’m… gonna get you that cloth.” Simon scooted over to the edge of the bed and found his abandoned clothes, “And my shirt. And hat.”

“Okay. I’ll be here.”

Simon dressed himself and headed back to the garage, grabbing the cloth out of the bucket.

“Master Lopez, are you only now cleaning yourself?!”

Simon nearly dropped to the floor in shock, “P-Percy! Hey buddy! What’s up?”

“Oh not much at all!” Percy stomped into the room from the hallway, “I delivered your message and caught up with Codsworth, hence my lateness. Though I am curious as to why you closed the garage door so early in the evening.”

“I’m uhhh… going to bed early-”

“And you’re trapezing around without a shirt!” Percival continued, “Are you seeking to impress Miss Lily with your physique?”

“No, absolutely not, even though she’s sharing the bed because the couch would be uncomfortable and I’m not a bad host, anyway I’m going to bed now, goodnight Percy!” Simon rambled as he grabbed the rest of his clothes and dunked the rag one more time for good measure.

“Goodnight, Master Lopez!” Percy called after him.

* * *

“Well, _that_ could have gone smoother… but mission accomplished.” Danse sighed, pulling his helmet off as they exited the ArcJet building.

“Smoother?” Rhiannon asked, looking skeptical. “Considering there were only two of us, I think we did just fine.”

“That sweep was sloppy,” Danse replied, “We were caught off guard more than once, which is unacceptable. However, your extra gun gave us the edge we needed. I’m not certain I could’ve accomplished this mission alone.”

Rhiannon took a deep breath. _‘Be polite. Be. Polite.’_

“Yeah. I think we worked well as a team.”

“Agreed.” Danse nodded, returning his helmet to his head, “It’s a refreshing change to work with a civilian who can follow orders correctly.”

_‘Be. Poli- Nope. Fuck it.’_

“First of all-” Rhiannon began, only for Dogmeat to latch onto her sleeve as though holding her back. She glanced down at the German Shepherd, who wagged his tail once. “... Glad. I. Could. Help.”

“Thank you for the assistance.” Danse nodded, his facial expressions hidden by the power armor helm, “Now we have two important matters to discuss. First of all, as compensation for your assistance in retrieving the Deep Range Transmitter, I’d like to give you my personal modification of the standard Brotherhood of Steel Laser Rifle.”

Danse handed over the rifle in his hands, the name ‘Righteous Authority’ etched into the stock, “May it serve you well in battle.”

“Uh... thanks.”

“Now… as far as the second matter goes, I wanted to make you a proposal.” Danse continued. Rhiannon felt one of her eyes twitch. “We had a lot thrown at us back there, our op could have ended in disaster, but you kept your cool and handled it like a soldier. There’s no doubt in my mind you have what it takes.”

“Well,” Rhiannon said carefully, “Maybe that’s because I’m the General of the Minutemen. As I keep telling you.”

“Maybe. But the way I see it, you have a choice,” Danse shrugged, “You could spend the rest of you life wandering from place to place, trading your hand for a meager reward… _or_ you could join the Brotherhood of Steel and make your mark on the world. What do you say?”

“You know-” Dogmeat licked at Rhiannon’s hand, as if continuing her abandoned inner mantra of ‘be polite.’ She took another deep breath. “I have to think about it. I have... a lot on my plate right now.”

“Fair enough. The offer will stand, and should you come to a decision, you know where to find me.” Danse nodded, “Now, once we get this transmitter back to the station, I’ll escort you to Sanctuary Hills, as agreed.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you seem pretty important to the Brotherhood operations around here, and I have Dogmeat.”

“Bark!”

“Hmm. You are also capable with assorted firearms. If you’re certain you can handle the journey alone, then I’ll make my way back and you can continue on without me.” Danse checked his laser pistol sidearm, “Take care, miss…?”

“Rhiannon.” The General responded with a nod.

“Remember that the offer still stands should you decide to join the Brotherhood.” Danse reminded her as he jogged off in the direction of the Cambridge Police Station.

As the man in power armor left her there, Rhiannon watched him go. Just as he was on the edge of her sight, she flipped him off, and then turned back towards Sanctuary. As she and Dogmeat headed home, Rhiannon couldn't help but affect a mockingly low voice.

“‘So nice that a _civilian_ can follow orders correctly.’ ‘Here’s a gun I tinkered with because everything I make has to be so cool.’ ‘Oh this power armor is soooo strong.’ ‘You could keep wandering from place to place, trading your hand for a meager reward, because the Minutemen must not be _that_ hard to run and lead.’ ‘Oooh I wear this huge armor so you can’t see how small my dick is.’ I am _never_ joining the Brotherhood of Steel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swan had some feelings about the Brotherhood of Steel. I mean, I'm not a fan of their actions / portrayal in Fallout 4 either, but I had to drag her through the mud to get through the BoS sections!
> 
> {Because I hate them.}


	17. One Week

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon, Simon, Valentine, Piper, MacCready, Lilith, and Cait spend a week preparing for their mission to find Kellogg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, we cracked 100k words!
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Barenaked Ladies.

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN**

**ONE WEEK**

* * *

**January 16th, 2288.**

Despite it being nearly noon, Simon and Lilith were still perfectly happy to stay in bed. The mercenary had been slowly trailing her fingers over Simon’s scars, and they’d spent the morning swapping stories.

“And... this one?” Lily ran the tips of her fingers over a long, thin line across Simon’s chest.

“Some crazy Pre-War scientists ripped my heart out.” Simon deadpanned, “I got it back.”

“... Neat.” Lilith’s eyes widened. “I gotta head out west some time. All the fun shit happens out west.”

“Well… maybe… but I can’t go back.” Simon said, nervously tracing a crescent on her ribs, “Anyway what about this one?”

“Oh, Jesus. I broke a rib and it uh... punctured through the skin.”

“What did you do?”

“…MacCready called it ‘parkour.’”

“Oh my God…” Simon sighed, his palm slapping his forehead.

“I fell in a dumpster. An empty one. From about two stories up. Cready was horrified but it was pretty funny.”

“If… you say so.”

“My turn.” Lilith thought for a moment, then reached up and gently brushed her thumb along Simon’s hairline. Her touch stopped on the twin bullet wounds there. “This one?”

“I… I’d rather talk about getting shot in the ass. That’s a funny story, actually-” Simon attempted to redirect the conversation, but Lily interrupted him.

“I didn’t ask about your ass. Yet.”

“Yeah, but we could talk about it.”

“No, I wanna know about this one. No one I know can survive a shot like that. Let alone two.”

“Okay. Fine.” Simon huffed, “So, I got a job to deliver this-”

“Simon? Are you home?”

At the sound of Rhiannon’s voice in the distance, the mechanic all but launched himself out of bed, hastily dressing himself as fast as he possibly could. “Y-yeah, just a second!”

Still laying in bed, Lilith sighed and rolled her eyes. “I mean, she’s welcome to join us.”

“I- uhm. I…” Simon stammered, “I…”

“You’re such a dork.”

“I’ll be right back!” Simon stammered as he walked out the door.

“Your pants are on backwards!” Lily called after, to no response.

When Simon emerged from his room, he could see Rhiannon come into the old gas station. Walking up to the counter, Simon leaned forward, anxiously tapping his fingers against the old cash register.

“Hey, how was the adventure with the… the uhh… Brotherhood of Steel?” Simon nervously stammered.

“I have never met a man with such a long stick shoved that far up his-” Rhiannon stopped as she came around the corner and took in the state of her friend. His pants, indeed, were on backwards, and his flannel was buttoned crookedly. “…Are you alright?”

“Yup, yeah, totally, one hundred gucci. Solid gold.” Simon attempted to pose himself, but that only added to his disastrous state.

“Hey, Rhiannon.” Casually, Lilith emerged from the bedroom, pulling on her combat pants, but otherwise nude. “Glad to see you didn’t die without us.”

Dogmeat barked happily and rushed to Lily, licking her hands and arms. She grinned and knelt down to scratch his sides. “Glad to see you, too, boy!”

Rhiannon’s jaw dropped, and she turned from the topless mercenary back to the disheveled mechanic. “Um.”

“…There’s no point in arguing, this is _exactly_ what it looks like.” Simon admitted, awkwardly shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Well, good for you,” Rhiannon said quickly, her face flushing. “That- awesome.”

“I… I mean, yeah. I- yeah.” Simon stammered, “Uhhh… Lily said you could join us- oh my God, why did I say that?”

“Because you’re a dork,” Lilith chimed in, repeating her earlier assessment.

“You know, I gotta check in with Preston. And Codsworth. I just... wanted to make sure you got home safe, so... you have fun. And I will... try and Abraxo my brain. And not think about any of this.”

“Fair enough, I’m going to curl into a ball and die, see ya!” Simon quickly fled back into his room. Lilith shook her head, but was grinning. Rhiannon tried hard not to look at her breasts.

“So, you... I mean...” Rhiannon started nervously, staring at a point on the far wall.

“Like. A. Ladder,” Lilith confirmed. She gave Dogmeat another few pats, then moved to follow Simon. “See you later, General.”

“Yeah, bye.” Still beet red, Rhiannon turned and hurried from the gas station and back towards Sanctuary.

And to think, Rhiannon had been literally dreaming about being in Lily’s position just a few nights ago. Now the thought of the mechanic in... _that_ sort of situation was nearly as embarrassing for her as it must be for him. The general shook her head, desperately hoping to expunge her mind of the mental images being conjured up. “Ugh. This is ridiculous.”

“Look! The General has returned!” A voice called from the guard post that was set up on the far side of the bridge.

Snapped back to the moment, Rhiannon took off her hat and waved it in greeting. Dogmeat bounded in a circle around her and then took off in a run across the bridge. By the time she reached the other side, Codsworth and Preston were waiting for her, the German Shepherd happily barking and circling them both.

“Welcome home, mum!” Codsworth greeted, waving one of his arms.

“Hey, Codsworth.” Rhiannon smiled as warmly as she could at the robot, already anticipating the things she’d need to talk with him about. “How were things without me?”

“Well, there was an incident involving the Longs, but fortunately that was resolved quickly.” Codsworth gestured with his three arms, “Things have been relatively quiet on the homefront.”

“Well, that’s good.” Rhiannon turned to Preston, reaching out to pull him into a hug. “And you? How’d you hold up without your fearless leader?”

“I think we did alright,” Preston returned the hug, “But a lot has happened since you left. We managed-”

“I asked how _you_ were, Preston.” Rhiannon sounded amused, but stepped back from the embrace with a slight frown.

“Oh.” Preston looked taken aback, and it took him a moment to find the words, “I’m alright… to be honest, running the Minutemen without you has been pretty hard. But, in good news we managed to secure two new settlement locations: Sunshine Tidings Co-Op and the Starlight Drive-In. We’ve also started resettling Oberland Station and investigating what happened to the previous occupants.”

“Damn. I should leave more often; a lot gets done without me,” Rhiannon teased, giving the brim of Preston’s hat a playful tug.

“Please don’t. I haven’t slept in days.” Preston frowned slightly.

“I’m here until the week’s out.” Her tone turned serious, and she glanced towards Codsworth.

“What do you mean? You just got back!” Codsworth’s eyes worriedly examined Rhiannon, “And… where is young Shaun?”

“We’re so close, Codsworth,” Rhiannon said, turning to him. “We found the son of a bitch who took him and we’re about to get him back. We just need to prepare.”

“How can the Minutemen help?” Preston asked immediately.

“We can talk about it,” Rhiannon said with a slight shake of her head. “There’s a lot to go over.”

“I... would like to accompany you, Mum,” Codsworth spoke up.

“Codsworth, honey,” Rhiannon sighed, “It’s going to be dangerous-”

“Sir and young Shaun... they’re my family, too,” Codsworth insisted. Rhiannon felt her throat constrict, and she nodded.

“Okay.”

“Hello, Miss Rhiannon!” Percival called as he lumbered towards them, “How are you this afternoon?”

“Glad to be home,” Rhiannon replied, finally returning her hat to her head. “What are you doing in town?”

“I was delivering parts to Sturges on Master Simon’s behalf. Did you stop by the Red Rocket to see him? I believe that Miss Lilith is still-”

“Yep. Lily’s... very comfortable.” Rhiannon’s face began to flood with color again.

“Master Simon has come quite a long way. Actively hosting guests for lengths of time, and offering the bed to them to stay while he sleeps on the floor.”

“I thought Simon had a couch?” Preston gave the robot a quizzical look.

“That merely shows his commitment to hospitality!” Percy replied jovially, “I must be off. We must catch up later, Codsworth!”

“Indeed, Percival!” Codsworth nodded an eyestalk, “Ta-ta!”

“So... who is Lilith?” Preston asked, once Percival had lumbered off across the bridge. Rhiannon looped her arm with the Minuteman’s.

“We definitely need to catch up.”

* * *

“Wow.” Preston sighed after Rhiannon had finished, sinking into her living room couch, “That’s… a lot. Almost makes running the Minutemen seem boring by comparison.”

“Yeah, well, I have to say I kind of envy the idea of paperwork.” Rhiannon gave Preston a tired smile. “So, anything I can help with before I have to head back to Diamond City?”

“We do have one major issue, but it’s probably not one we can handle in a week’s time. It’ll probably require as much prep as your mission to track down Kellogg.” Preston replied, scratching his neck lightly.

“Well, we can give it some brain power, at least. What’s going on?”

“We’ve gotten big enough that we’re having trouble communicating with all our settlements. Of all the problems we _could_ be having right now, this is a ‘good’ one.” Preston elaborated, “Fortunately, I have the solution: we retake the Castle, the old Minutemen HQ. It’s well-fortified, centrally located, and has a powerful radio transmitter we can use to broadcast to the whole Commonwealth.”

Rhiannon nodded thoughtfully. “Okay... what obstacles are we looking at?”

“Mirelurks. Lots and lots of Mirelurks.” Preston responded, “They’ve turned the place into a nesting ground. Then there’s the matter of getting there…”

“Where’s it located?” Rhiannon asked, glad for the distraction from her family problems.

“I’ll mark it on your map.” Preston took Rhiannon’s arm and began to fiddle with her Pip-Boy. Rhiannon leaned close to watch where he was indicating.

“Right here,” Preston said, pointing as he locked the location. He and Rhiannon both looked up, nearly nose-to-nose. She blinked. He blinked. Neither moved.

“…Thanks.”

“…Just doing my job, General.”

“Luncheon is ready!”

The Minutemen sat up straight as Codsworth floated into the room. The Mr. Handy carried a tray of two cans of water and two bowls of hot stew.

“Percival has taught me a delightful recipe: squirrel stew!” Codsworth deposited the items on the end table, “Enjoy!”

“Thanks, Codsworth.” Preston turned quickly to grab his share of the food, leaving the general to stare, a little stunned, at the back of his head.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Garvey!”

Rhiannon looked down at the map of her Pip-Boy and switched it off.

* * *

“Now this-” Cait grinned as MacCready led her through the gates of Goodneighbor. A man with long white hair passed around syringes with a glowing blue substance inside to his paying customers. A male ghoul and a human woman engaged in a public drinking contest, cheered on by a crowd of onlookers.

“This is my kinda place.” Cait finished after taking in the sights.

“Well, get comfortable,” MacCready led his companion towards the Third Rail, “We’ve got about a week of downtime.”

“Oh. I will.” Cait smirked over at him, “Only thing better than gettin’ pissed is pickin’ a fight… am I right?”

MacCready hummed in agreement as he stepped over the form of a human male in the street. Just at a glance, MacCready had absolutely no idea if the man was asleep, unconscious, or dead. The pair entered the Third Rail, descending the stairs into the bar where Magnolia sang for a packed house.

“Charlie!” MacCready called to the bartender, “Hook me up with a beer, and-”

“Gimmie a whiskey!” Cait interrupted.

“MacCready. Fancy seeing you back here. Beer and whiskey coming right up.” The Mr. Handy bartender responded, his arms swivelling around to grab the bottles for his patrons.

“To Rhiannon?” MacCready suggested a toast.

“To that crazy bitch!” Cait grinned, tapping her bottle against the rifleman’s.

“By the way…” Whitechapel Charlie affixed an eye on each of them, “A new job’s come up on the table since you left, MacCready.”

“Oh yeah? Gimmie the details, my new friend and I can probably handle it.” MacCready smirked.

“I got a certain anonymous client who’s paying top dollar for some cleanup. Three locations. Everyone inside. No witnesses.”

“What’s the catch?” Cait asked, narrowing her eyes at the robot.

“They’re all in town, so I can’t hire my regulars. Too noticeable.”

“What’s the pay?” MacCready asked.

“Two hundred caps, after the job’s done. And I’ll know about it as soon as it is.”

“Two hundred caps for three locations?” MacCready squinted at Charlie, “That’s a lot of time and a lot of bullets.”

“Well, I guess we could sweeten the pot a bit… two-fifty.” The bartender responded.

“Too low. That barely covers the risks.” MacCready scoffed.

“Alright, ‘guv. Three hundred.”

“More. Money. Charlie.” Cait growled at the Mr. Handy, leaning towards the eye that watched her.

“Givin’ me a right kick in the alberts… I’ll make it four hundred but that’s as high as I’m going!”

“Deal.” MacCready and Cait said in unison.

* * *

**January 17th, 2288.**

“Lilith-” Simon struggled to get words out as Lilith kissed him, “I still need to-”

“Tomorrow,” Lily murmured, her hands holding his face gently as she continued to keep his lips sealed with her own.

“You said that yesterday.” Simon broke free for a moment, “And we need to meet with Rhiannon and Preston about when we’re going back to Diamond City.”

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true.” Lilith sighed, and climbed off the mechanic’s lap to allow him to stand.

“If you want, we can pick back up for a round or two when we get back from Sanctuary before I work on our guns.” Simon rose, straightening his shirt.

“Is that a promise, sugar?” Lily teased, grabbing her boots from beside the bed.

“Well… now it _has_ to be.” Simon smirked.

“Then it’s a date.” Lilith finished lacing up her boots and stood to steal another kiss.

“…A what now?” Simon asked numbly as the woman headed out. A moment later, he slapped himself on the cheek and rushed to catch up to her.

The pair arrived in Sanctuary a few minutes later. Lilith had picked up a few twigs along the way, and had tried explaining to Simon yet another game she’d learned.

“So whoever’s stick reaches the other side of the bridge first wins. It’s just a race.”

“But… why is it called-”

“I have _no_ earthly idea,” Lily replied with a shrug. “Some Pre-War thing.”

“At least it makes more sense than Snaps.” Simon grumbled under his breath as they passed the halfway mark of the bridge.

“Have you ever had actual fun in your life, Simon?” Lilith asked, tossing the sticks into the water.

“Pip-Boy holotape games are fun. Playing ‘tag’ as a kid is fun. Last night was fun.” Simon punctuated the last of these with a knowing look, a smirk, and a playful shove, “Whatever the _fuck_ Snaps is supposed to be? Not fun.”

“Man, you gotta get outside more.” But she planted a kiss on his cheek, just as Preston approached to meet them.

“Good morning, Simon,” The Minuteman greeted, “And this is… Lilith, right?”

“My reputation precedes me,” the mercenary laughed. “I hope it’s a good one.”

“Good from what Rhiannon’s told me,” Preston nodded, “I’m Preston Garvey, Rhiannon’s right hand in the Commonwealth Minutemen. Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Lilith headed on ahead, looking around at the partially rebuilt homes with an approving gaze.

“By the way, good for you, Simon.” Preston pat the mechanic on the back.

“Uhhh… thanks?” Simon gave Preston a quizzical look, “What do you mean though?”

“Finding yourself a nice girl. You guys make a cute couple.”

“I… uhhh… well… I don’t know… the thing is… uhhh… thanks?”  Simon stammered out. He hadn’t given his relationship with Lilith any thought. Were they just friends with benefits? Were they dating now? Granted, it had only been two days at most. Still, he’d never thought about it like that. But now... well, now he couldn’t think about anything else.

“You know,” Lilith remarked, falling back into step with them when she realized she’d gone ahead, “This is nice. The kinda place a lot of people out in the Wasteland like to imagine living in. Y’all did good.”

“Thank you,” Preston smiled, “We’ve worked very hard to repair these old buildings.”

“They were drafty as fuck when they first started. Holes in the roofs and shit.” Simon added.

“Looks pretty good now,” Lily appraised. “Which one’s Rhiannon’s?”

“That one,” Preston pointed ahead to a blue house up ahead, “It used to be her’s… before the war.”

“It’d be weird if anyone else lived there, to be honest.” Simon muttered over to Lily.

“And which one’s yours, Preston?” Lily flashed the Minuteman a much too innocent smile.

“Well, it’s-”

Before Preston could answer, Dogmeat came barrelling out of Rhiannon’s homestead towards Lily, barking excitedly and jumping and running in circles around the group.

“Dogmeat!” Lilith knelt down to meet the dog, scratching his belly as he rolled over for her. “Hey, boy. Long time, no see.”

“You saw him yesterday,” Simon remarked.

“It’s sarcasm, sugar.”

“Knowing you-”

“Hey Simon, Lilith,” Rhiannon greeted as she stepped outside, “I had a feeling it’d be you after Dogmeat took off.”

“Preston here was just giving us the grand tour,” Lilith replied. Dogmeat rolled back to his paws and licked at her cheek.

“Oh, I have something for you, Simon.” Rhiannon slapped her forehead, “Come in, I’ll give it to you before we talk about the Kellogg mission.”

“Okay?” Simon briefly glanced over at Lilith. The mercenary linked arms with the mechanic and followed after Rhiannon. Dogmeat followed close behind, leaving Preston to take up the rear.

“First of all,” Rhiannon pointed to the hulking mass of metal that occupied her kitchen counter, “I found _that_ thing in the ArcJet building. I was hoping you could take a look at it.”

“Huh.” Simon adjusted his cap and leaned in to examine the device, “It’s definitely some kind of weapon. Hmm.”

“Oh, there was this holotape next to it.” Rhiannon passed a cassette over to the mechanic. With a shrug, Simon popped the tape into his Pip-Boy.

_“Jeering. Leering. Laughing. Mocking. Taunting. 'Oh, he graduated all right. From high school.' 'It's fine, I'm sure he took shop class.' 'Oh look, he's reading the science mags. How cute.' Har har har. Shop class. Let's see them make this in shop class. My marvel of engineering. The finest in weaponized refuse acceleration. My beauty. My Junk Jet. They'll see. The engineers, with their suits and fancy degrees. Come Monday morning, they'll all see.”_

“Uhh…” Simon and Rhiannon shared a dumbfounded look.

“‘Junk Jet?’” Lilith repeated. She hopped up onto the counter beside the weapon and began looking it over for herself. “‘Weaponized refuse acceleration.’ I... think I get it?”

“I guess… that means it fires whatever junk you put into it at high speeds.” Simon raised an eyebrow as he ejected the holotape, “I mean, I’ll take this off your hands if you don’t want it, but I’m not going to devote time and energy figuring this… _thing_ out right now.”

“I’ll fuck around with it,” Lilith offered.

“That idea terrifies me, considering you’re staying in my home.”

“Also,” Rhiannon retrieved a second weapon, “That Brotherhood Paladin gave me this. I figured-”

“Oh, _wow_ …” Simon moved to grab the laser rifle but paused until Rhiannon willingly relinquished it to him, “This is… I haven’t had a laser weapon in _ages_ . The only _real_ difference between a laser pistol and a laser rifle is the grip, if you know what you’re doing, they can be damn near interchangeable-”

“I’m glad you like it.” Rhiannon smiled. Watching Simon examine the weapon, grinning like a kid on Christmas, she was more than willing to let him have it.

“Think it’ll help your aim, sugar?” Lily teased, hefting the Junk Jet into her arms and testing the weight.

“Blow me.” Simon glared over at the mercenary.

“I will when we get back, remember?” She grinned. Rhiannon and Preston both flushed.

“So-” Preston coughed into his fist, “About Kellogg?”

“Right!” Simon said, a little too loudly, “So we came by to ask you what weapons and armor you planned on bringing with you so I could upgrade them, and also when you wanted to leave for Diamond City.”

“Well, you’ve been itching to fix my hunting rifle,” Rhiannon said, giving the mechanic a light shove. “As for armor, I like what I have now.”

“Leather straps are fine and all, but I can add studs to it to give you a little extra protection.” Simon pointed out, “And I can mess around with that new submachine gun of yours, add a compensator, a recoil-dampening stock, armor piercing-”

“I’ll just give you all of my stuff,” Rhiannon interrupted. “I trust your judgement.”

“Fair enough.” Simon sighed, “Preston? Anything you want me to tune up?”

“Maybe my Laser Musket, but I need it back ASAP.” The Minuteman pulled the aforementioned rifle from its sling.

“I’ll do that one here and now. Come on.” Simon nodded towards the door. Handing over his weapon, Preston followed the mechanic out and over to Sturges’ workshop. Rhiannon and Lilith remained behind, an awkward silence settling over her living room.

_“We'll ride and guide and be so satisfied! The trip will be fine in my rocket sixty-nine!”_

...Silent save for that damn radio.

“Cute house,” Lilith offered to break the quiet. “Must be nice to have somewhere to call your own.”

“Mmhmm.” Rhiannon nodded, “I used to like living here… before… you know…”

“Yeah. Not as fond of it as you were?”

“It’s…” The woman out of time too a deep breath and let out a long sigh, “It’s complicated.”

“I’ll bet.” Lily looked down at the strange firearm that rested in her lap. “I’d like to say I understand but... I don’t think our situations are as similar as I’d like to think.”

Another silence fell between the two women, save for the radio…

_"Why does the sun go on shining? Why does the sea rush to shore? Don’t they know it’s the end of the world? 'Cause you don’t love me anymore..."_

...That damn radio.

“What do you mean by that? What was… your situation?” Rhiannon asked softly, carefully. Lilith held onto her silence for another beat, before taking a deep breath.

“I got family up in Salem. I think. Maybe I don’t. I heard Gunners rushed the place a little over a decade ago. I... haven’t checked.”

“Oh, Lily…” Rhiannon felt her breathing hitch, “Do… do you want to go to Salem and see if anyone’s…”

“Maybe? I don’t know. I’ve been saying ‘fuck the Rooks’ for so damn long, I... I’m not sure anyone left would be that happy to see me.”

“Why not? What happened?”

_"Why does my heart go on beating? Why do these eyes of mine cry? Don’t they know it’s the end of the world? It ended when you said goodbye…"_

“My... parents were scavvers, traders. They didn’t like being cooped up in town fighting off raiders and mirelurks, so they took to scavving for caps. That didn’t sit real well with Grandpa Barney, but he couldn’t exactly stop them.

“Well, around the time I was... shit, seven, eight, something like that, this couple shows up to our campfire one night. Real sweethearts. Well, they got to talking and...” Lilith trailed off, gaze fixed on a random part of the ruined carpet.

“You don’t have to continue if you don’t want to.” Rhiannon gently took Lilith’s hand.

“I mean... I should tell _somebody_ , I guess. Not even Cready knows.”

“‘Not even MacCready?’” Rhiannon repeated, eyebrows raising in shock, “I thought you two were…”

“I mean, he knows pieces. He knows I was raised... raised by a pair of Synths. He just doesn’t know how they got me.” Lily ran her free hand through her hair, and continued rapidly, just desperate to get the words out. “Mom and Dad saw an opportunity when they found out these two were trying to hide what they were. And hey, how can you be a couple of robots when you got a kid that’s real and grows up, right?”

“Oh… oh my… oh my God.” Rhiannon’s mouth dropped open. Her mind drifted to Shaun, and the idea of selling their own child… it made her feel ill. “That’s… that’s horrible! How could they?!”

“Not everyone’s as good a parent as you, Rhiannon.” Lilith offered a small smile. “Seven hundred and twenty nine caps. That’s how much I cost. All the Synths had in their pockets.

“Shit,” Lily laughed bitterly, and wiped at her eye quickly. “Listen to me, calling them ‘the Synths’ and ‘Mom and Dad.’ Fuck. _Mom and Dad_ took me in after emptying their pockets and gave me a decent life down in Huntington, until I hit nineteen. _Lyall and Rose Rook_ sold me off like I was a bundle of scrap metal.”

“The rest of your family can’t have been okay with this,” Rhiannon said, almost pleading for that to be the case.

“I don’t know. After... after Mom and Dad got caught, I headed back north, selling my skills to keep food in my belly. Never made it back to Salem, and I hear it’s not the place to go, anyways. I guess I kind of lumped all my human family into one category. They sure as shit didn’t come looking for me.”

Before Rhiannon could respond, the front door opened again.

“And with that, your Laser Musket should be-” Simon’s conversation with Preston died as he looked around the room, his eyebrows furrowing as he examined the scene, “Is everything alright?”

“Peachy keen,” Lilith replied with a concerningly convincing smile. She winked at the General. “Rhiannon just figured out Snaps.”

“What’s… ‘Snaps?’” Preston asked.

“Preston, no!” Simon attempted to interject.

“Well, it’s real easy-”

* * *

**January 18th, 2288.**

“We could… go down the chimney?” Piper suggested, briefly looking over her shoulder as she continued to edit her interview with Rhiannon.

“Right.” Valentine drew out the word, rolling his eyes. “Just like Santa Claus. As hilarious and humiliating as that might be, he doesn’t even have a chimney.”

The Synth detective leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette and placing it between his lips.

“I _know_ that Nicky, I’m just…” Piper threw up her hands and let her head fall to the desk with a sigh, “I feel like I’m failing them, you know?”

“You’re doing your job, Piper,” Nick sighed. The smoke from his cigarette curled out his exposed jaw. “No one could ask you to do more. It’s _my_ responsibility to figure this out. Too bad that old merc _didn’t_ leave us a key.”

“Wait.” Piper shot out of her chair, “That’s it!”

Valentine opened his mouth to give a snide remark, but for the first time came up short. “What?”

“What if he _did_ have a key under the mat, and it fell under?” Piper gestured wildly with her hands, grabbing her coat from a coat rack with such enthusiasm that it fell over, “And if it’s _not_ there, then the Mayor’s office has a spare key!”

“Right! McDonogh keeps his dirty fingers in everyone’s business. He’s got a key to every building in this city.” Nick snapped. “Piper, you’re a genius.”

“Let’s hope the key is under that catwalk,” Piper pushed the door open, “Otherwise we’ll have to wait for the others to come back. Geneva won’t hand that key over to you, and _definitely_ not to me.”

Stepping out into the rainy night, Piper and Valentine journeyed through the winding pinwheel of Diamond City’s streets. Making their way to the west stands, the duo stopped in the shadow of Kellogg’s house. The reporter and the detective shared a glance and a nod before crawling between the supports of the catwalk to search the old stadium chairs.

“Gotta be here somewhere…” Piper murmured, looking under the seats, “Any luck, Nicky?”

“None yet,” Valentine sighed, picking a blade of grass out from between the joints on his metallic hand. “Might be easier to do this in the daylight.”

“…Probably,” Piper agreed after a moment, “But then we’ll have to put up with people staring and some DCS hardass shows up and asks ‘what do you think you’re doing?’ But he doesn’t _care_ what we’re doing.”

A brief pause.

“Hey, Nicky, have you noticed that the phrase ‘what do you think you’re doing’ just means ‘stop doing what you’re doing?’” Piper looked up from her search.

“…I haven’t noticed that, but you’re not wrong,” Valentine admitted, peering at her from under a decrepit stadium seat. After another minute of searching, Piper’s hand shot up into the air.

“I got it!” She declared, holding a key attached via chain to a shotgun shell.

“Nice find,” Nick appraised. “You’ve always had a good eye, Piper. You sure you don’t have time to help me and Ellie out at the agency?”

“Are you _sure_ you want a reporter shoving her nose into sensitive case files?” Piper smirked as she tossed the key to herself.

“Well, when you put it that way-”

“Hey! You! Paper bitch!” The pair turned to see a figure staggering forward. One hand, clutching a bottle, was extended, and he was pointing at Piper.

“Oh, jeez.” Piper sighed, “Really? All the insults in the world and you come up with-”

Piper’s sarcastic reply died in her mouth when she saw the figure step into a glimpse of light. As Riley, drunk and disheveled, staggered towards them, the reporter couldn’t help but relive watching him sob over the corpse of his brother, shot down by Diamond City Security.

“Riley...” Piper took a half step towards the man. “Hey, I’m-”

“It’s all your fault! Your fucking newspaper put all those... those ideas in his head!”

“Riley, I’m sorry,” Piper tried again. “I never meant-”

The drunk threw his bottle at the reporter. It shattered at her feet, and Piper let out a small scream of surprise.

“S-shut up! You did this! You killed him with your fucking paper!”

“Easy now, Riley,” Valentine interjected, a hand in the pocket of his coat. “Piper was just doing her job. Your brother’s the one who riled himself up.”

“And _you_!” Riley fumbled at his hip to retrieve a shoddy pipe pistol, “You’re a Synth! And Diamond City Sec… Secur… they don’t shoot you?!”

“Nicky’s not like the Synths I was writing about, Riley.” Piper could feel a lump forming in her throat as she watched the man reach for his gun. Her eyes started to burn with tears, wondering if she could reach her own weapon in time… or if she should at all. “He’s not here to replace anyone.”

“Put the gun away and go home, Riley,” Valentine warned, his metallic fingers wrapping around his pipe revolver.

“If… if they’re not gonna kill you… then I am!” Riley declared, firing wildly at Nick, missing each time. Piper ducked down behind the seats as the first shot rang out. After the fifth shot, his gun jammed. “No, piece of-”

“I said, ‘Go. Home. Riley.’” Valentine drew his revolver and aimed it at the man, his yellow eyes glowing almost disturbingly in the darkness.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” Two members of Diamond City Security rushed onto the scene. One brandished a baseball bat while the other pointed his pipe rifle back and forth between Nick and Riley.

“Young Riley here’s had a little too much to drink and started making threats.” Nick replied calmly, putting his gun away. Piper slowly got back to her feet, hands trembling as she shoved Kellogg’s key into her pocket.

“Hey!” One of the security guards pointed his bat at Piper, “What are you doing here? What happened?”

“N-Nicky and I were out for a walk,” Piper stuttered, “and Riley showed up, like Nick said.”

“And he pulled a gun you?” The other guard asked as Riley drunkenly dropped his gun attempting to reholster it. The jam seemed to fix itself as another shot went off when it clattered to the ground.

“Jesus!” The first guard exclaimed.

“Alright, he’s coming with us.” The guard with the gun grabbed Riley by the bicep and dragged him towards the security lockup.

“Fuck you, paper bitch! Synth fucker! Fucking-”

“That’s enough out of you.” The guard silenced Riley with a jab in the ribs from the hilt of his bat. Riley shot one more hateful look at the pair in the stands as he was dragged away.

“Let’s go.” Piper said quietly, looking at the ground.

“Yeah,” Valentine sighed, putting an arm around Piper’s shoulders and leading her back towards her home and office. “Let’s see about getting that article of yours finished.”

* * *

**January 19th, 2288.**

“So how are you settling in?” Rhiannon sat in a patio chair, a Nuka Cola before her. Across from her, Paul and Sheffield each sat in a similar chair, each with a cola in front of them. Sheffield’s was nearly empty.

“Since we talked, I’ve been doing swell,” Paul smiled, “Everyone here has been… much nicer than I thought they’d be. When I came, no one even pointed a gun at me! But the store isn’t built yet, so there isn’t much for me to do right now. Two hundred years of Vault-Tec sales experience doesn’t help fix a roof.”

“Maybe Sturges or one of the Longs could teach you?” Rhiannon suggested with a shrug.

“I could talk to Sturges. He seems nice. I don’t think the Longs like me.” Paul’s face fell a little.

“Marcy doesn’t really like anyone,” Rhiannon assured him, “And Jun is still in a bit of a… well, a funk, I guess you could say.”

“I understand that… Oh, I just can’t wait for the Minutemen to finish building the store!” Paul’s face beamed, “Thank you again for this opportunity!”

“My pleasure. How about you, Sheffield?”

“Well, farming’s hard work, but it’s honest work.” Sheffield finished his bottle of Nuka Cola, putting the bottle back into a box with four other empty bottles, “And Sturges said he’d teach me how to start fixing some of the old electrical wiring, so there’s that.”

“And have there been any issues about the two of you sharing a house?” Rhiannon asked, “We can build more if-”

“No, it’s fine.” Paul interrupted, “I like having a housemate. It’s… nice to have someone else around.”

“Paulie’s a good one,” Sheffield nodded towards the ghoul, “He says he’ll order me Nuka Cola when his shop’s built!”

“Well, I’m glad you two are getting along.” Rhiannon smiled warmly at them both.

“Oh, there you are dear.” The slightly rasping voice of Mama Murphy carried over to them as the older woman shuffled closer. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Mama Murphy,” Rhiannon greeted, “What can I help you with?”

"I got a favor to ask ya, kid.” The old seer made her way to the table and sighed. She rested a hand to her hip. “I know it's silly, but I need a chair. Something with a nice fit for these old bones. Can you do that for me?"

“Of course.” Rhiannon rose from her seat, and nodded at the two men. “I’ll talk to you both again before I head out, okay?”

“Okay!” Paul smiled at the General, “Thank you for visiting.”

“Nice to see you again,” Sheffield added, a little smile on his lips as well.

“Okay, Mama.” Rhiannon turned to the Seer as the others took their leave. “Where are you wanting this chair?”

* * *

**January 20th, 2288.**

_"Dig that heavy metal underneath your hood! Baby, I could work all night, believe I've got the perfect tools! Talkin' 'bout love… talkin' 'bout love… talkin' 'bout…"_

With the groove of a Pre-War band playing through Simon’s Pip-Boy, discarded on the end table to provide background noise, Lilith ran her tongue along the shell of the mechanic’s ear, then gently nipped at his earlobe. “Harder.”

At her command, Simon slapped his hand into Lily’s rear, squeezing once his hand had made contact. “Like that?”

“Yeah, just like that.” Lilith ran her hands across Simon’s chest. “Now what do you want, sugar?”

“I want you,” Simon whispered, “Please.”

“Then take me.” Lilith captured his lips with hers and moved to properly straddle his waist.

Simon kissed back, breaking away so he could properly insert himself into her, “How do you want it?”

“Hard and fast,” Lilith replied, beginning to move her hips exactly counter to her description. “Make me scream.”

“As you wish.” Simon replied.

* * *

“Harder! Fuck!” Cait’s hands tangled in the bedsheets as MacCready’s hands held her hips tightly. At her insistence, the mercenary’s thrusts landed deeper. “Yes, just like… yes! Fuck!”

“Hey!” A voice called from outside the locked door of MacCready’s rented room, “Great that you’re having a good time, but shut the fuck up!”

“Fuck you! Bother us again and I’ll-” Cait spat towards the door, the rest of her threat cut off by a loud moan, “Keep going, keep _fucking_ going! Oh my God!”

MacCready let out a breathless chuckle and continued to pound into Cait from behind, one hand holding her in an almost bruising grasp, the other reaching into her hair and yanking back. “Don’t worry, I’m not stopping.”

“You’d better not-” Cait gasped, the words giving way to a scream of pleasure.

* * *

“Simon,” Lilith moaned breathlessly, one hand tangling in his hair and the other gripping his shoulder tightly. “Oh, fuck, fuck, yes...”

“Lily,” Simon gasped, pulling his mouth away from her neck- where he’d left a mark upon her skin, “Lily…”

“Goddamn, you’re so good,” Lilith whispered, before capturing his mouth with hers hungrily.

“Wait, really?” Simon asked in the moments where he could get words out.

“Yeah,” She replied eagerly. “Yeah, Simon, you’re amazing.”

Of all the words Simon thought would describe him, ‘amazing’ didn’t crack the top hundred. However, he couldn’t let these thoughts get in the way of the moment… Lily was having the time of her life with him, not that he really understood why, and he couldn’t let her down _now_. So he thrusted harder and faster into her, his lips moving away from hers so he could spread kisses across her jawline.

“Fuuuuck!” Lily moaned, the hand in his hair tightening. “Just like that! Oh _fuck!_ ”

* * *

Cait’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the headboard of the bed in an attempt to steady herself. MacCready had leaned forward, his head resting against his shoulder, and she could hear his groans of pleasure with each rough thrust into her.

“Don’t tell me you’re running out of steam…” Cait breathed, turning her head to catch a glimpse of the mercenary from the corner of her eye.

“Nah,” MacCready replied, proving his statement with an especially hard thrust. “Just getting comfortable.”

“There’ll be time for that after,” Cait laughed, until another hard thrust elicited a loud gasp from the former pit fighter.

“You getting close?” MacCready asked, beginning to pick up his already quick pace. The hand on Cait’s hip helped to pull her down harder on his cock with each movement.

“I’m… getting there… keep going… like that…” Cait moaned loudly, “MacCready…”

“Gonna scream for me when you do?” MacCready asked, his mouth moving to whisper the words in her ear.

“Mmm… yes… but if you come inside I’ll cut your-”

“I won’t.”

* * *

“Lily…” Simon gasped, “I’m… I’m close…”

“Yeah... yeah...” Lilith’s words dissolved into a soft whine. “Fuck, me too.”

“Where?” Simon asked, his question pleading as he approached his climax.

“Ah, anywhere,” Lilith couldn’t think clearly enough to answer, just desperate for her release.

“Lily… I’m…” Simon reached down to rub his partner’s clit, hoping to hasten her ascent. His efforts were rewarded almost immediately, as Lilith let out a scream of pleasure only seconds later.

“SIMON!”

“Lil-Lily!”

* * *

“Cready!”

“Cait!”

* * *

“And Master Simon has even slept in the same bed as Miss Lilith to help keep her warm on cold nights!” Percy attempted to mimic wiping a tear from his eye, but his arms were too short to reach, “I’m so proud of him. He’s come so far since he first set down roots here.”

“Ah, I remember when Sir and Mum shared their bed,” Codsworth recalled, bobbing his eyes in the semblance of a nod. “Though... I was under the impression that was rarely something one did with guests.”

“Much has changed in your two hundred years, I suppose.” Percival chuckled, “Humans are quite adorable.”

* * *

Simon and Lilith panted, frozen in their positions. Lily lay back on the bed, Simon’s seed across her abdomen. Simon sat upright, a hand nervously tapping against his leg.

“Shit... shit, that was good,” Lilith managed to say between her gulps for breath.

“Barely made it out…” Simon muttered numbly, “Oh fuckin’ hell, I… shit… fuck…”

Lilith shrugged, and reached over to run her fingers through his hair. “You were out, sugar. It’s all good.”

“Yeah but-”

“No buts. Now lay down and kiss me.”

* * *

“That was great.” MacCready sighed. After cleaning the mess they’d made, Cait and MacCready lay next to each other, each smoking a cigarette.

“Eh, wasn’t bad.” Cait shrugged, “Definitely in my top ten.”

“…Yeah, top ten, for sure.” MacCready took a drag from his cigarette.

* * *

**January 21st, 2288.**

“Everyone ready?” Rhiannon asked, looking at the faces around her.

“Right behind you, mum!” Codsworth replied jovially.

“Just say the word, General.” Preston saluted.

“As I’ll ever be,” Lilith answered with a shrug.

“Woof!” Dogmeat barked.

“Wait, shit, I forgot to give you your stuff!” Simon ran back inside for a moment, returning with a bag of gear, “Here. Upgraded your armor and did some work on your guns, and made some parts to put on everyone else’s-”

“Thank you, Simon,” Rhiannon interjected, as she pulled on the assorted leather straps and metal plates of her armor.

“Let’s go, everyone.” The General nodded towards the road.

“Good luck storming the Kellogg residence!” Percival called from inside the Red Rocket.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Simon and Lilith were listening to while making love was "Trampled Under Foot" by Led Zeppelin.


	18. The Razors Edge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tensions boil as Rhiannon leads the hunt for Kellogg. Meanwhile, Moira rewards three of her Harbingers, and Caldwell designs a new weapon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Alcohol / Drunkenness
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by AC/DC.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN**

**THE RAZORS EDGE**

* * *

**January 22nd, 2288.**

_“Lay that pistol down, babe, lay that pistol down! Pistol packin' mama, lay that pistol down!”_

As Diamond City radio added to the background noise of the Dugout Inn, the assembled members of Rhiannon’s group ate in relative silence. Piper hadn’t arrived at the Dugout yet; she was stopping by Power Noodles to get her lunch and fetching Valentine. MacCready and Cait hadn’t arrived in the city yet.

“So, here’s my question.” Lily finally broke the silence, looking up from the radroach stew she’d been eating.

Rhiannon quizzically looked up from her plate of mole rat chunks and mixed vegetables. “Yes?”

“Let’s say I’m walking around my everyday life, then, I die. In some kind of terrible passion, with lots of unfinished business. According to the stories, I’d probably become a ghost. So, my question is, now, right now, sitting here, I have a ghost inside me, and so does that mean everyone is haunted?”

“What. The. Fuck?” Simon stared over at Lilith, his spoon falling from his grasp and into his bowl of squirrel stew. Preston held a hand to his mouth and coughed, doing a very poor job of hiding his laughter.

“That…” Rhiannon stammered, “Is probably a question for Pastor Clements.”

“Follow up question, how many ghosts did the war make, and are we all haunted just because there are so many ghosts now?” Lilith continued.

“I…” Rhiannon looked away, “Would rather not think about Pre-War ghosts.”

“Sorry.” Lilith winced.

“But Pastor Clements may be able to help you with those questions.” Rhiannon reached over to pat Lily on the arm.

“I was kind of just trying to get a good conversation going,” the mercenary admitted. Across the room, the door opened, and Piper entered, leading not only Valentine, but Cait and MacCready as well.

“Looks like the cavalry’s here,” Preston remarked, as the group approached the table.

“What the fu-” MacCready barely held back from cursing as he pointed at Lilith, “Where were you all week?!”

“With Simon and Rhiannon,” Lilith answered with a shrug. “They were upgrading my gear. It’d be rude to leave it all behind, and I wouldn’t do you much good without it.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame,” Cait sighed, “I was hoping for a threesome.”

“Oh, well, shit. Sorry to disappoint.” Lily pulled out the seat beside her she’d saved for MacCready. “Maybe next time.”

“Uhh…” Simon glanced between Lily, MacCready, and Cait.

“Anyway!” Piper clasped her hands together, “How was everyone’s week?”

“Well, I spent most of the week upgrading weapons and armor, and I banged out-”

Lilith had taken another bite of her stew, and at the mechanic’s choice of words, spluttered, sending broth spraying across her lap.

“-Some upgrades for your weapons. Or what I remember you guys having.” Simon finished.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” Preston rose from his chair and extended a hand to Piper and Valentine, “Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen.”

“Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences.” Piper shook the man’s hand with a barely restrained smile, “Would you mind stopping in for an interview after all of this is resolved?”

“It’d be my pleasure, Miss Wright,” Preston replied warmly. He looked to Nick, as the Synth took his hand in turn.

“Nick Valentine, private detective. Your general hired me to find her son.”

“She mentioned,” Preston nodded, shaking the Synth’s hand, “That’s very good of you.”

“Wait.” MacCready’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back and forth between Simon and Lilith, “Did you…?”

“Did I...?” Lilith raised her eyebrow, still wiping stew off her clothes and armor.

“Uhh…” One of Simon’s hands scratched the back of his neck, the other tapped nervously against the table.

“And this is MacCready and Cait!” Rhiannon interrupted, introducing the two mercenaries to the Minuteman.

“What’s up?” MacCready briefly glanced over at the Minuteman, but kept his gaze affixed onto Lilith and Simon.

“Nice hat.” Cait nodded to Preston, her tone implying amusement and sarcasm.

“Thank you,” Preston replied, the additional ‘I guess’ both unspoken yet clearly implied.

“Why are you staring at me?” Lily insisted, tossing her dirty napkin at MacCready. “It’s not like you and Cait didn’t _clearly_ hook up.”

“Wait, she blew us off to fuck the grease monkey?” Cait’s head snapped in Lily’s direction.

“Yeah, I did. Who gives a shit? Y’all are making it weird.”

“Okay! Maybe we should head to check out the house now!” Piper interjected, dangling the key out in front of her, “I found the key, so let’s go, right now!”

“Please.” Rhiannon sighed in relief as she all but ran to take the key from the reporter and rush out the door.

“Hello, Miss Rhiannon!” Codsworth greeted Rhiannon as she led the group out the door, “I had a most enlightening conversation with- where are we all going in such a hurry?”

“Heading to Kellogg’s,” Valentine informed the robot, shaking his head at the humans around him. “It’s time to crack the place open.”

“Isn’t that breaking and entering? That’s illegal, my good sir.” Codsworth asked.

“We have a key.” Simon shrugged as he passed by the Mr. Handy, following after Cait and Lilith.

“I see. Lead on!”

The party made their way to the west stands, drawing a few stares just at the sheer number of them, and the motley of their appearances. But they were unaccosted, and it wasn’t long before they found themselves outside Kellogg’s door once again.

“Do you want to do the honors, Rhiannon?” Valentine asked, lighting a cigarette.

Rhiannon nodded silently, inserting the key into the lock and turning it, a click to signal their success.

“Hey, some of us should wait out here, just in case Diamond City Security decides to swing by.” MacCready suggested.

“That’s… a really good idea.” Piper raised her eyebrows, “We do have a large group, and we’ll probably get in each other’s ways in there.”

“Codsworth, honey, no offense, but maybe you should wait downstairs,” Rhiannon offered, looking to the bulky form of her Mr. Handy.

“As you wish, mum.” Codsworth replied after a moment of hesitation.

“I’ll watch his back,” Lilith offered, hefting her bat onto her shoulder. Simon had upgraded Alice over the last week, adding razorblades between some of the nails, and it cut an imposing image.

“Bark!” Dogmeat wagged his tail as he sat down next to Lilith.

“I’ll whistle if I need you.” Nick nodded to the German Shepherd. Dogmeat’s head cocked to the side, his tongue lolling out as he panted slightly.

“Simon and I’ll stick by the door.” MacCready volunteered, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall of the Kellogg residence. Cait took a position next to the rifleman, looking over the city. Simon raised an eyebrow at being volunteered but said nothing.

“Guess the four of us are going in, then,” Piper said, looking between Rhiannon, Valentine, and Preston.

“Looks like it.” Preston affirmed, shifting on his heels. Rhiannon looked to everyone in turn, as Lily took Dogmeat and Codsworth downstairs and Cait meandered a few feet after them to get a better view.

“Alright. In we go.” Rhiannon faced the door again and grasped the cold metal of the handle. Her heart was in her throat, wondering how long her son had lived here, feeling strange about walking in the shadows of his footsteps. But she pushed the thoughts away, and opened the door.

A moment after Rhiannon led the Minuteman, the reporter, and the detective into the house, MacCready glanced over at Simon.

“So. You and Rook.”

“So. You and Cait,” Simon responded cooly.

“Hey, what I do is my business-”

“And what Lilith does is her’s.”

MacCready’s nostrils flared as he frowned at the mechanic, “Cait and I were having fun, blowing off steam from a tough job. We had a few drinks and things went from there. Nothing serious. Lily’s not like that. Lily doesn’t just screw _anyone_ . She doesn’t _do_ one night stands.”

“I noticed,” Simon replied, a sharp note of irritation entering his words.

“Oh, ha ha. A funny guy.” MacCready rolled his eyes, “Rook and I are _partners_. I know her better than anyone else, so if you think you can just show up and sweep her off her feet-”

“You know what I think? I think you’re a hypocrite, and I think you’re _jealous_.”

“Listen here,” MacCready grabbed the front of Simon’s shirt and shoved him against the outside of the house, “If you hurt her, I will _fuck you up_.”

“Careful. You might owe Lily a cap for that profanity,” Simon replied, proud of how even he kept his voice.

“What was that?” Piper asked, opening the door just enough to poke her head out, “We heard a ‘thump.’”

“Nothing,” Simon replied.

“All clear here,” MacCready confirmed.

“Alright…” Piper sounded skeptical. “Anyways, we found some of Kellogg’s smokes. We’re thinking Dogmeat might be able to track him.”

“Where’s Rhiannon?” Simon asked, trying to peer past the reporter.

“…She needs a minute.” Piper replied quietly, her eyes dropping to the floor.

“MacCready, go get the others.” Simon pushed past Piper and headed into the house.

“I don’t-” MacCready protested but stopped himself, “Fine.”

As the door to the Kellogg residence closed Cait slunk up beside the rifleman, “See, that wasn’t so hard. That ‘fuck’ make you feel better?”

Without a word, MacCready headed off to where he could see Lily, Dogmeat, and Codsworth in the marketplace.

* * *

Rhiannon let her hand trail over the old television in the corner, a tightness in her chest. If the timeline was right- and who could say how long it had truly been between the kidnapping and her final thaw- then Shaun had been here. Her boy, her son, had lived in these walls, walked this floor. And she’d been merely months too late to take him home. So close, and yet still impossibly far...

“Hey,” Simon spoke up before resting a hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder, “Are you alright?”

“…Not really,” she replied softly. “I feel so… helpless.”

Simon said nothing, wrapping his arms around the woman from behind and resting his head against her shoulder, “I know. But we’re going to get him back.”

“We’re a helluva lot closer, Rhiannon,” Nick reminded her. He was upstairs, digging through Kellogg’s desk. “Won’t be long now before you can look Kellogg in the eye and get your answers.”

“And then you can blow his fuckin’ brains out, if you want.” Simon added. Rhiannon looked surprised for a moment, but then she smiled.

“Yeah... I think I might kinda like that.”

“Well, that’d be a poetic ending for certain…” Piper piped up, an uneasy tone to her voice.

“Can’t say he wouldn’t deserve it,” Valentine chimed in, shoving some papers into his coat pockets.

After a deep breath, Rhiannon gently stepped out of Simon’s embrace. “Okay, let’s get Dogmeat up here and find this son of a bitch.”

“Did someone call for a good boy?” Lily pushed open the door to let the German Shepherd bound in.

“Woof!” Immediately, Dogmeat’s nose hit the ground, taking in all the new smells while his tail wagged.

“I… still need to fix up everyone’s equipment, well, everyone who wasn’t in Sanctuary…” Simon stepped towards the door, “It shouldn’t take long, I already have the parts, maybe an hour at most for everyone’s gear.”

“So, I guess this is the last call for ammo and supplies before we head out?” Piper leaned against the armchair.

“We’re gonna want Stimpacks,” Lilith spoke up, “food, purified water, and yep, lots and lots of bullets.”

“Alright, we’ll meet at the front gate in an hour.” Rhiannon steeled herself, “Be ready.”

* * *

“Thank you all for gathering here.” It had taken some time to reconstruct, but Moira once again lounged in her skull-framed throne, the Harbingers all surrounding her and awaiting her words. At her side, Witch rubbed his fingers together, resisting the urge to scratch at his arms, as he’d wanted to do ever since stepping into Brownstone’s clinic. At her other side, where Jolly usually loomed, Volos rested on his haunches, and the Banshee’s hand absently stroked his horns.

“We’re here to discuss what we’re going to do for the three that were involved in that... regrettable incident with the Pack. Fontayne, Sinead, and Moth have all been cleared by Mackenzie, and will be back with us full time. But that leaves us to deal with what transpired between them and the animals of the Ampitheatre.”

There were a few nervous shifts among the raiders. Vulture set his hands on Moth’s shoulders, standing just behind the chair the crippled woman was still confined to.

“Sinead, you did as you were asked, and made the calls you believed were best. You did well. We’ll be giving you three-hundred caps as a reward. They are yours to spend as you see fit. Thank you for your leadership.” Moira nodded to the blue-eyed raider, and Witch offered her the bag of caps that rested on the arm of Moira’s throne.

“Thank you, Banshee.” Sinead accepted the boon humbly and bowed her head.

“Fontayne.” The Banshee turned her attention to the male raider. “You did well in signalling for backup. You fought as hard as you could, but you prioritized your team and swallowed your pride. This is something I have long told you to work on, so congratulations. I know you’ve wanted Doc to be one of your soldiers for some time. We’ll begin working on getting him to listen to your commands.”

“Thank you, Banshee.” Fontayne’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t fight his smile.

“And Moth.” Moira’s dark eyes landed on the small woman seated before her. She’d finally gotten a monocle for her other eye, but Moth was staring very intently at the floor. “You walked into a dangerous situation with two of your highest superiors, and yet you volunteered yourself for the pit. You killed a member of the Pack in a single strike, and you fought until your legs were shattered and your eye lost. Your body was broken by this incident.”

Moth stayed silent, swallowing hard. Moira swung her legs off the armrest and stood, walking to the Harbinger and taking her chin in a tight grasp. The Banshee turned Moth’s face up to meet her gaze. “As such, you cannot remain a Crow.”

“I’m sorr-”

“Your body broke, but you proved yourself to me. You have been a prodigy of mine since the day you first came to me. Small, fast. You cannot rely on strength, and so you became precise. And you followed my lessons beautifully in that pit. And so, if your legs recover, you will be made a Spectre. Until we know for sure, however, you will be considered an Omen.”

The air seemed to leave the room, and even Witch looked taken aback. Fontayne and Sinead exchanged a stunned look, and Stitches and Ellison did the same. Had Moira not been holding Moth’s jaw, it would have dropped. After another heavy beat of silence, Moth’s trembling voice spoke up.

“Th-Thank you, Banshee.” Her remaining eye filled with tears, and a moment later, Vulture let out a scream, that the rest of the Harbingers echoed, filling the room with their shrieks and whistling. Once it died down, the Banshee’s eyes were no longer on Moth, but the one figure that remained silent.

“Is there a problem, Greyson?” She glared across the room. The tall, broad-shouldered man set his jaw, but did not answer. Releasing Moth’s chin, Moira crossed to him and stood on her toes, barely able to reach his face with hers. “I asked you if you had a problem.”

“I do.”

“Tell me.”

“Moth is a Crow, like myself. I have been here longer than she has, and I haven’t even been promoted to Raven. She gets to suddenly reach the highest rank because she had the shit kicked out of her?”

“She will be made a Spectre because she proved herself a skilled warrior. But as she cannot currently fight or hunt, I expect her to have the respect she deserves. Perhaps you could learn from her. Obedience is what I expect. Exceptionality is what gets you ahead. You may obey me at every turn as you should, and still be nothing more than acceptable.” Moira grabbed Greyson by the throat suddenly and pulled him down to her eye level. “Now scream for her, and start trying harder to impress me.”

Greyson nodded, and once Moira’s grip slackened, he let out a shriek, watched intently by his fellows. Once his voice died out, the Banshee, still holding his gaze, snarled, “Dismissed.”

The room was empty in minutes.

* * *

MacCready scrutinized his rifle carefully after Simon passed it back. He’d upgraded the stock, the receiver, added a ported barrel, and even installed a quick-eject for the ammo clips… and despite their earlier confrontation, the mechanic hadn’t damaged Bad News during the process.

The rifleman cast a glare over towards Simon, who now worked on Piper’s trusty 10mm pistol while the reporter leaned against a nearby wall, making idle chatter he couldn’t hear. At least if Simon had fucked up his rifle, then he’d have a _real_ reason to be pissed.

“Drinks?” Lilith sat down at the table with MacCready, two glasses in one hand and a bottle of bourbon in the other.

“Sure,” MacCready shrugged, slinging the rifle over his back. Lily filled the glasses and slid one to her friend.

“Sorry I didn’t meet up with you. I should have sent a note or something.”

“Yeah… I was worried about you for awhile there.” MacCready admitted after taking a sip.

“I’ll keep you in the loop next time, promise.” Lilith tapped her cup against his and then took a sip of her own.

There was a moment of silence. MacCready’s fingers tapped against his glass. The people of the marketplace went on with their daily lives. One of Diamond City Radio’s Eyebots drifted by, dragging a stream of Pre-War music along with it.

_"…If it's stubborn as can be, mean and ornery… it's a man. It if walks, if it talks, if its habits are a little bit peculiar… If it brags and tries to make you think it's wonderful, be on the lookout! Don't let it fool ya!"_

“So. You and Lopez, huh?” MacCready asked, his eyes affixed on the ripples he made in his bourbon.

“Yeah. You and Cait, too, looks like.”

“Cait was a one night deal,” MacCready replied curtly, “It sounds like you had the whole _week_ with Simon.”

“So what?” Lilith shrugged and took another drink. “I’m a big girl, I can do what I want.”

“You can do better.” The rifleman took another sip of bourbon to match his companion.

“I happen to like Simon.” Lilith frowned and set her glass down on the table. “What do you care anyways? _‘We’re not a couple_ .’ Remember? I’m not your girl. You made that _abundantly_ clear, so you don’t get to police my sex life.”

“You _know_ why I can’t-”

“That has jack shit to do with me, _Robert_ .” Lily’s eyes narrowed. “And jack shit to do with why you get to have one night stands whenever you want, but get pissy every single time I try to have an actual _partner_.”

“Yeah? And how did the last guy work out for you?” MacCready bristled, “Or that caravan girl before him?”

“So I made mistakes. We all do. You don’t have to protect me from myself. You’re not _my_ father.”

“That is a low frickin’ blow Rook, and you know it.” The mercenary growled, the grip on his glass tightening.

“Simon’s a good guy. And he’s sweet, and he’s smart, and we’re gonna be working with him for awhile. So get your head out of your ass, and let me be happy. You don’t get to tell me we can’t be together and then get mad that I hooked up with someone else. That’s bullshit.”

“Hey, are you guys okay over here?”

MacCready and Lily both turned to see Piper standing a few feet away from their table. In the distance behind her, Simon was now working on Valentine’s revolver.

“Just peachy.” Lilith got to her feet and grabbed her glass and the bottle of bourbon before heading over to watch Simon work.

“In case you were wondering,” Piper watched Lily leave, “That’s code for ‘no.’”

“Shut up.” MacCready grumbled, downing the rest of his glass and slamming it onto the table.

* * *

“Sir?”

Harvey stared in wide-eyed fear as he watched the Overboss test out his newest weapon on the hanging corpses of beasts and failed slaves. With the talons of a Deathclaw strapped together to form a gauntlet, Caldwell easily carved through his test subjects.

“What is it, Harvey?” Caldwell asked as a Yao Guai fell to pieces from a single well-placed slash he’d made moments before.

“We… we… uhh… just got word that your first agents have made it into the Commonwealth.” The long-haired man stammered.

“Very good.” Caldwell pulled the gauntlet off, examining it closely, “Tell me, Harvey. What do you think of this weapon?”

“It’s… very deadly, Overboss,” Harvey replied, “But if you don’t mind my saying, it looks… bulky.”

Caldwell stormed over to Harvey, looming over the man. The slave shrunk back, shaking in fear.

“You’re right.”

“I… sir?” Harvey blinked twice.

“While highly effective, this weapon weighs twelve pounds,” Caldwell turned the Deathclaw gauntlet over in his hands, “My blades can cut just as well, weigh much less, and are easier to carry and travel with. Tell me, what do you think can be done to make this weapon more effective?”

“I… well…” Harvey shifted anxiously, “Maybe… you could put them on your Power Armor? Or… make them retractable? Or… use less of the… uhh… bone?”

“Hmm. Inspired.” Caldwell nodded, staring into the distance, “I could probably make that work, with time and tools. Thank you Harvey.”

“I- you’re welcome, Overboss.” Harvey bowed, hands still trembling.

“Here,” Caldwell placed his gauntlet on a nearby workbench, then grabbed an unopened Nuka Cola Quantum and held it out for the slave.

“Th-thank you.” Harvey accepted the gift.

“And-” Caldwell pulled out a small bag of caps, “For your continued loyal service.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” Harvey bowed again, backing out of the room with the Quantum and the caps.

Caldwell turned back to the weapon, pulling out the schematics he’d used to craft it and sketch out concepts and ideas that Harvey had suggested, starting with the idea to implement the Deathclaw talons into his power armor.

“So _this_ is what you did with the Pack’s other Deathclaw?” Gage asked from where he’d been leaning against the wall, “Didn’t voodoo it into your personal pet, you killed it and used it’s hands to make a fuckin’ boxing glove… then decided to scrap it and start from square one? That’s a mighty waste, boss.”

“Killing the Deathclaw was a _lesson_ , Gage.” Caldwell responded, his eyes on his work, “I can easily go out and kill more Deathclaws to make more of these ‘boxing gloves.’ But The Pack can’t just go out, catch another Deathclaw and tame it. For every _fifty_ men they send to hunt and _kill_ a Deathclaw, only _fifteen_ live to tell the tale. I’ve _hurt_ them, Gage. And this wound will take a _long_ time to heal.”

“Whatever you say, boss…” Gage pushed off the wall and looked over Caldwell’s shoulder to assess the designs, “In any case, the slave’s right; those claws will get in the way of any other weapon you try to wield if you don’t make them retractable.”

“Duly noted.” Caldwell nodded, “How are the armored hazmat suits coming along?”

“Boss, you took three parks in a day, and yet you’ve been stalling and sitting on your ass when we only have one left to go,” Gage snapped, “What the fuck gives?”

Finally, Caldwell pulled away from his work, hanging his sunglasses from the front of his collar.

“Let’s just say that certain events in my life have made me extremely wary of radiation.” The Overboss’ voice was void of emotion or tone, “I am _not_ taking any chances.”

“Whatever you say, Overboss…” Gage took a step back, unnerved by Caldwell’s cold stare and flatline tone, “I’m gonna… check on the hazmat suits.”

“You do that, Gage.” Caldwell returned the sunglasses to his face and flicked on his Pip-Boy’s radio as he returned to work.

_“In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised not to plan my funeral 'fore the body dies, yeah…”_

* * *

“Bark!”

Dogmeat led the group down a few sets of stairs, ducking out of view as Rhiannon hit the bottom floor.

“A campfire… and it looks fresh.” She pointed to the group, “And back there… a bedroll.”

“That sounds nice actually.” Simon yawned, “A campfire, a bedroll…”

“We’ve been walking all night,” Lilith agreed, leaning an arm on the mechanic’s shoulder.

After Dogmeat had gotten the trail, he’d taken off excitedly, and Rhiannon hadn’t slowed their pursuit since. This was several hours ago. Despite fighting against raiders, a Yao Guai, and at one point, Dogmeat’s instinct to hunt for squirrels, Rhiannon kept the group’s noses to the grindstone.

“I wouldn’t rest on _that_ bedroll. It’s a trap.” Piper pointed into the dark, “See those little lights? There’s a mine there. Kellogg probably put it there…”

“Navigating a minefield doesn’t sound like typical reporter business.” MacCready glanced over at Piper, who merely shrugged.

“Alright, I’m on it,” Lily sighed, moving around the others to reach the mine. “Mind shining one of your Pip-Boys down here so I can actually see what I’m doing?”

“Dogmeat found something,” Rhiannon responded briskly, “Simon, go give her some light.”

“Oh… ‘kay…” Simon let the syllables hang as the general turned a corner, followed by Valentine and Codsworth. With a flick of a switch, his Pip-Boy emitted a green light. Once Rhiannon was out of sight, Simon turned to the others, “Does anyone feel like she’s running herself… and us… a little ragged?”

“Yes,” came the chorus of exhausted replies.

“Notice how the _robots_ are the only ones keeping up with her,” Preston sighed, grumpier than he would be in most situations. The Minuteman rubbed at his eyes, clearly worn out.

“We’d be moving faster if you all kept your eyes on the road and off me arse.” Cait replied, her tiredness adding an edge to a somewhat playful remark.

“Yeah, MacCready,” Lily chimed in, her own teasing tone just as sharp. After a moment, there was a small hum, and she held up the mine. “Got it.”

Simon took the explosive from Lilith, packing it away with a few others, “So when is she gonna let us rest?”

“No time, Dogmeat has the scent!” Rhiannon peered around the corner, “Come on!”

“No rest for the wicked.” MacCready grumbled, adjusting his cap. Reluctantly, the group fell back in line, following with heavier footfalls and less enthusiasm than when they’d begun. At the other end of the tunnel, Dogmeat let out a howl, his paws stomping as he waited by the lawnchair that had been set up.

“Oh, he sat and had himself a beer?” Simon groaned, glaring at the back of Rhiannon’s head, “ _He_ found the time to _sit and have a beer_?!”

“And he left the evidence behind,” MacCready said disdainfully as he picked up the bottle.

“I can’t decide if he’s the shittiest merc out here, or the best, if he wasn’t worried about leaving such a clear trail,” Lilith added.

“What if he _wants_ us to find him?” Piper’s eyes widened, her voice more alert with the sobering realization.

“Everyone calm down,” Valentine snapped. “Kellogg and the kid left Diamond City months ago. This likely has nothing to do with us.”

“ _‘Likely,’_ ” Cait repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Not that many people have dogs out here,” Preston chimed in, “So he wouldn’t really have to worry about leaving his smell behind, and this sure does make that trapped campsite look more promising than it really was.”

“Too much talk, not enough walk!” Rhiannon clapped in front of the group’s faces as Dogmeat picked up the scent once again, “Let’s go, go, go!”

Cait’s eye twitched, but as her hand did the same, MacCready grabbed her wrist and shook his head. Piper, also sensing the aggression and tension, fell into step with Rhiannon as they moved on.

“Blue, we gotta rest soon,” Piper said softly. “Kellogg catches us in this state, and we don’t stand a chance.”

“As much as I agree with Piper,” Valentine took a position on the other side of Rhiannon, “We can’t stop just _yet_. Forest Grove Marsh is up ahead and-”

“Shite!”

Rhiannon turned around to see MacCready, Lilith, and Simon all working to pull Cait out of a hole in the bridge they were walking across.

“Oh, dear!” Codsworth floated back over to try and assist, but they’d rescued the Irishwoman quickly enough.

“Can’t fucking _see_ anything, because it’s dark as shit,” Lilith cursed, casting her gaze around for any further holes or hazards.

“Okay,” Rhiannon finally sighed, “Where’s the closest place that’s safe to rest?”

“Fort Hagen’s pretty close, and there are plenty of old buildings around the area.” Valentine pointed into the distance, “We’d better be careful on our way there though. Like I was saying, For-”

A guttural, rasping groan stopped the Synth’s words in his throat. On the opposite side of the large fuel truck they were moving around, the sound of something shifting and dragging could be clearly heard.

“Forest Grove Marsh is infested with Ferals.” Valentine finished.

“ _Great_ ,” Simon pulled out the laser rifle Rhiannon had gifted him, “Because being exhausted isn’t enough. We gotta fight _Ferals_ too.”

“If you want to take backseat, the grown ups can handle it,” MacCready remarked, drawing his own rifle.

All emotion drained from Simon’s face. When the first Feral poked its head up from over the bridge, the mechanic fired, blasting a hole clear through the middle of its forehead. The next two Ferals to come into sight, further down the bridge, barely made it three steps from behind the truck they crawled from before Simon cut them down with a burst of well-placed shots.

MacCready, previously peering through the scope of his rifle, slowly lowered the gun and turned to face Simon. Everyone else in the party was also staring, dumbfounded, at the mechanic.

“You didn’t tell me you could shoot like that, sugar,” Lily broke the quiet after a heavy pause.

“I’m _tired_ _as shit_ and I have _no_ _time_ for this _motherfuckery_ ,” Simon replied, staring blankly towards the end of the bridge, “Can we _please,_ for the love of _Christ_ , get a move on so we can _fucking rest_?”

After another second of stunned silence, the group moved ahead, Dogmeat’s tail wagging as he led the way.

* * *

“You asked to see me?” Moira’s arms were crossed as the lift reached the Fizztop Grille.

“Yes, apologies about it being so late.” Caldwell replied, sitting in front of his desk with a partial bottle of rum in front of him, “I had meant to send word sooner, but other duties kept me at bay.”

“I am accustomed to keeping strange hours.” The Banshee shrugged and stepped properly into the room, before sitting sideways in one of the old booths. Still mostly obscured in shadow, she watched the Overboss carefully. “What is this about?”

“How are your people?” Caldwell asked bluntly, drinking directly from his bottle of alcohol.

“They are recovering.” Moira barely hid the surprise in her voice. “Sinead and Fontayne are nearly back in order, and time will tell what happens with my little Moth.”

“Hope she walks again.” The Overboss had a slight slur to his words as the now-empty bottle clattered to the floor next to two empty beer bottles and an empty Nuka Cola bottle. The Banshee fought the urge to shift with discomfort.

“Thank you, Caldwell. Will that be all?”

“Fuckin’ goddamn…” The Overboss cursed quietly, “People are getting restless I haven’t taken Kiddie Kingdom. Fuckin’ Ghoul and his radiation mist bullshit… fuckin’ radiation…”

Moira considered her next words carefully, “Kiddie Kingdom? I can aid in that. The Super Mutants are resilient to radiation, and many of my people possess gas masks. With enough Rad-X and Radaway, the job should be simple.”

“Gas masks aren’t _enough_ . Rad-X isn’t _enough_.” Caldwell growled, pushing out from his desk and beginning to pace angrily, “That fuckin’ Oswald is sitting on a metric fuckton of nuclear waste and using it to his advantage like the clever little cunt he is…”

In a moment of rage, Caldwell grabbed a sledgehammer that was resting against the bar and slammed it into his desk, “Why the _fuck_ did it have to be fucking _rads_ ? The _one fucking thing_ I couldn’t protect them from!”

Finally, the Banshee’s mask broke, her eyebrows both raising in surprise. She took a moment to digest his words, nodding a little. Now that was something to work with. “Protect who?”

Caldwell pointed the hammer in Moira’s direction, “No. _Don’t_. Don’t follow this white rabbit.”

The Banshee’s brow furrowed now. ‘White rabbit?’ She shrugged the confusion away; the context made his meaning clear. A part of her considered making her exit, walking away from the situation and leaving the Overboss to drown his misery in alcohol and rage. She was terrible with emotional outbursts, and never knew how to handle them; that was Witch’s department. But… then again… his guard was low, lower than she might hope to get it again.

Moira stood slowly, moving as she would around a strange beast in the Wasteland. She approached, gently set a hand on the sledgehammer and pushed it towards the floor. Her other hand rested against his, where Caldwell held the handle. When she spoke, her voice was soft, almost empathetic, a voice saved for only her closest Harbingers. “Tell me, James.”

The Overboss stared at the Banshee through his sunglasses for what felt like an eternity before he answered.

“James Caldwell… _Senior_.”

“I see.” Moira had gone cold again, but this time it felt more guarded than aloof. “I… that is…”

She stepped away, unable to find the right words for him now.

“Fitting of him to leave this world, leaving me to clean up after his messes… he’d done it _so_ many times before…” Caldwell began to pace again, circling around Moira like a shark, “And then the radiation leak _he_ fucking caused and killed him… _I_ had to go in there and fix his little project, _I_ had to face the rads, _I could have fucking_ -”

Caldwell’s rant ended abruptly and his trajectory led him away from the Banshee now. The Overboss stumbled towards his bed, using the sledgehammer as a walking stick. Once he’d made it to his destination, he dropped to sit on the edge of the mattress, leaning forward into the hammer.

“But you didn’t.” Moira walked a few paces closer, stopping by the bar. “You survived, as you survived the Gauntlet, as you survived the other parks. As you will survive the Kingdom.”

Caldwell didn’t respond, slightly rocking back and forth from his intoxication. His eyes remained fixed upon the floor, upon the head of his hammer as he continued to rely upon it to stay seated and forward. When his silence stretched on, Moira sighed, and crossed to him.

She took Caldwell’s chin in her hand, gently, and turned his face up to hers, her other hand tipping down his glasses so she could see his eyes. “Fathers are shit, James. They give you impossible standards and insist you live up to them, and in the end, _they’re_ the ones who disappoint _you_. We both come from men who were weak. We are not weak.”

With his sunglasses removed, Moira could see the bloodshot steel eyes of the Overboss as he gazed into her and through her. At her words, something seemed to click within Caldwell, his eyes focusing for but a moment. His hands let go of the sledgehammer and took either side of her face, pulling the Banshee into a brief kiss.

Moira jerked away from him as though he’d electrocuted her, stumbling a few paces back. One hand raised to cover her mouth, and her eyes were wide, the shock she felt not even remotely disguised. For his part, Caldwell seemed to almost fade back into his haze, rocking slightly as his hands fumbled to grasp the handle of the hammer once again.

After a few unsteady breaths, the Banshee began to collect herself. Her hands trembled, so she curled them into fists behind her back. Her lips burned, but she fought the urge to bite them. “I should go.”

“Mmhmm.” Caldwell hummed, continuing to sway like a tree in the wind. Moira lingered for a moment more, as if untrusting of her legs, but then did her best not to outright flee to the lift. She jammed her shaking fingers against the call button, the platform seeming to descend ten times slower than usual.

By the time she’d reached the ground, the Banshee was back to her cold, indifferent mask, and hurried briskly back to her headquarters. Outside, the two guards at the door gave her curious glances, but let their leader pass. Once inside, she was immediately crowded by Mutt, Volos, Stitches, and Ellison. The mutant smiled a bit, happy to fall into her shadow, while the Deathclaw nuzzled her. Moira gently pushed him away, snapping and pointing him back towards the corner of the common room they’d outfitted for him. After another lick to her hand, Volos headed back to his nest of leathers, bones, and blankets.

“Banshee, we need to talk about Brownstone-” Stitches began, looking even more irritable than usual.

“Not now.” Moira waved her hand dismissively. The medic stepped back, but threw up her hands in exasperation.

“But, Banshee-” Ellison piped up, pulling his gas mask off to better speak.

“ _I said not now, Ellison!_ ”

The room stilled as Moira’s voice raised suddenly. The Banshee screamed in warning, in triumph, in celebration, in command. She did not yell. Her anger was always ice cold and quiet; precise, never explosive. Ellison took a step back, eyes wide.

“Okay,” the man said, retreating another step. At her outburst, Mutt stopped shadowing the Banshee and slowly crept back towards where the other mutants gathered.

“What the hell are you all staring at? Do your own shit.” Witch’s voice carried from the far doorway, as Moira pushed past him towards her bedroom and unofficial office. Witch followed, until the door was closed behind them.

“So… I take it the meeting went-”

“He kissed me.”

“…I’m sorry, what?” Witch blinked. Moira’s hands were still shaking, and she sat down slowly on the bed, lifting one to her mouth once more. It still felt like it was on fire, and as the tip of her tongue touched her lips, she could taste the rum Caldwell had been drinking. Her stomach knotted, and she felt ill.

“Moira, what happened?” Witch insisted, taking her face in his hands. She pulled sharply away from him. But the touch brought Moira back to her senses, and she took a deep breath.

“I was getting information. He was drunk. His guard was down. I got too close.”

“Jesus.” Witch ran a hand through his hair, his nostrils flaring. “Did he do anything else? Do I need to-”

“No.” The Banshee’s cold, commanding tone came back for a moment. “No, nothing else happened. I left.”

“Jesus,” Witch repeated, sitting down beside her. “I... I’ll talk to Gage. We’ll have someone go with you on your next little meeting.”

“No. Then he’ll know he got to me.”

“Moira! He’s repeated a behavior twice now, within two weeks. You’re not failing, you’re countering and defending yourself. It’s a smart move, nothing more.”

“…Fine.” The Banshee sighed. “Send Ghost to the Court in the morning. I need to speak with Scarlett.”

* * *

Fort Hagen.

Perhaps it was a stroke of luck that their chosen rest destination was where Kellogg was hiding. Then again, now that she thought about it, Rhiannon should have realized sooner that Kellogg would choose such a heavily fortified location to hide.

The others, for their part, seemed to care very little as they set up basic fortifications and their bedrolls. Valentine and Codsworth would handle the watch duties for the night; neither of them required sleep, and Codsworth had the benefit of three eyes.

Simon picked a spot for his bedroll, and stepped aside for Lilith as she lay hers just beside it. The female mercenary gave him a tired little smile and a pat on the cheek.

“Get a room,” MacCready grumbled from his corner of the abandoned building as he balled his coat into a makeshift pillow.

“Oh, fuck off, Cready,” Lily shot back, shrugging off her trench coat to do the very same thing.

“Hey, calm down, people,” Preston turned to shoot a disapproving glance from his bedroll.

“Just keep it the fuck down over there,” Simon glared at the rifleman, “Some of us don’t want to hear or see what you two get up to.”

"If I weren't too tired to shag, I'd scream extra loud- just for you." Cait snapped back.

“Children. Simmer down.” Valentine warned sternly, “You’re all tired and tensions are high. Just get some rest.”

Lilith rolled her eyes as she set her rolled coat down for Simon to use as a pillow. “He’s right. Let’s just sleep.”

“That means you too, Blue,” Piper called to Rhiannon, as the reporter slid into her bedroll.

Rhiannon was still pacing in front of the windows, staring out in the direction of the fort. Her heart was in her throat, and every nerve felt like a livewire. Dogmeat whined, catching her sleeve in his teeth and giving it a little tug to pull her to a halt.

“Mum, please,” Codsworth begged, “You need to get some sleep… even our four-legged friend seems to think so.”

“Whuff.” Dogmeat let out a tiny bark. Rhiannon sighed, taking Vinny’s old cap off her head and turning it over in her hands.

“We’re just... so close. We’re _so close_.”

“Kellogg’s not going anywhere.” Nick set a hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder, “We’ve got eyes on the roof and the front door. If he makes a break for it, we’ll know.”

“Okay.” The woman’s voice cracked, but she nodded. Holding the cap to her chest, Rhiannon finally moved to unpack her things and settle in. Tomorrow, she reminded herself, to try and calm down. Tomorrow, she’d have her answers, and her revenge.

* * *

**January 23rd, 2288.**

“Fuck…” Scarlett sunk into the red lounge chair she’d appropriated as her throne, “ _…Fuck_. Holy shit. He was drunk, right? You said he was drunk.”

“He was drunk,” Moira repeated, for what felt like the hundredth time. “And he’s working on Kiddie Kingdom.”

Scarlett stammered through a few curses and false starts before giving up trying to come up with a coherent response. The Queen of Hearts let out a long, melancholy sigh, and ran a hand through her hair, “I… don’t know what to say. To _any_ of this.”

“Neither do I,” Moira admitted. “I left immediately, as I said. It was... a surprise, to say the least.”

“Whatever you do, don’t let Mags find out about this,” Scarlett sat up straighter, “The last thing you need is that bitch actively gunning for you like she is me.”

“Oh, believe me, I have no intention of her finding out. Though, my offer to kill her for you stands. The Operators don’t need _two_ leaders, and lord knows having William in charge means they’d fold like a house of cards. And you and I would have a lot of salvage to claim.”

Scarlett shook her head, “I wouldn’t dare risk disturbing the peace like that. Especially considering what Caldwell did to Mason.”

“No one has to know who did it,” Moira continued with a shrug. It sounded more like she was musing about the weather than murder. “I pull a few strings, get my people in the right places, some poison in the right bottles…”

Scarlett began to nervously wring her hands, rising from her chair and pacing anxiously, “But what if-”

“Scarlett. Banshee.”

Moira’s shoulders tensed at the low voice of the Overboss reached them from the doorway. At her feet, Volos, half-asleep, let out a low snarl when he sensed his mistress’s sudden shift.

“Overboss Caldwell,” Scarlett attempted to put on a smile, “Hi! How are you this morning?”

Caldwell did not respond, his naturally downturned lips sinking into a frown.

“…Wrong side of the bed. Okay. Not gonna ask about Kiddie-”

“Banshee, if I may have a moment of your time for a brief private conversation?” Caldwell’s gaze fixed on Moira, ignoring Scarlett entirely. The Banshee crossed her ankles, and then her arms.

“Anything you want to say to me you can say in front of Scarlett.”

“Interesting.” Caldwell mused aloud as he strode to the Harbinger. Volos let out a deep, hissing growl at the Overboss’s approach, but Caldwell silenced the beast with a raised hand.

“You want to speak to me, speak.” Moira’s demeanor was more guarded than usual, and she leaned away from Caldwell slightly as he came near.

“I would like to formally and sincerely apologize for my… intoxication during our meeting.” The Overboss spoke with his hands behind his back, “This apology, of course, extends to any and all _unpleasantness_ that may have occurred.”

“‘Unpleasantness,’” Moira repeated in a deadpan. “Right.”

“I have little to no recollection of the events of last night.” Caldwell’s stare bore into the Banshee, “I awoke this morning with a splitting headache, a ruined desk, and a vague sense of…  degradation.”

The Banshee held his gaze wordlessly for nearly a full minute. “Will that be all?”

“That will be all.” Caldwell nodded.

“Then leave me.”

“As you wish.” The Overboss turned on his heel, striding for the doors. Once he had left, Scarlett coughed into her fist.

“I guess you want to be alone so-”

“Scarlett, may I ask you a question? It might be... forward.”

“Of… course.” Scarlett froze mid-step.

“What are your feelings towards Caldwell?” Moira’s dark eyes turned suddenly to lock onto Scarlett’s, but they were no longer harsh or cold.

“I…” Scarlett’s mouth dropped open, “I… _thought_ I knew. But then… when we talked… I’m not sure if I was in _love_ with him, or if he’d just… swept me off my feet…”

“Easy enough to mistake love and infatuation.” Moira nodded slowly. “Especially at your age. A man a decade your senior, the Overboss no less, showering you in special attention… it could be either, I suppose.”

“I… I don’t want to talk about this. Not right now.” Scarlett suddenly closed herself off, hugging herself as she looked to the floor.

“Very well.” The Banshee sighed and reached over to set a hand on Scarlett’s arm for a moment. “But… I have been thinking, and I wanted to know your thoughts before I… move forward.”

Scarlett looked up from the ground, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“This is not the first time I’ve sensed that Caldwell, in some way, desires me. I thought originally it was a play to get inside my head, but… last night has me reconsidering. It could be genuine. I want to use this desire, and turn it back on Caldwell to gain an advantage of my own. You don’t have to answer me now, Scarlett. I can be patient. But I want you to think about it, and I will not proceed without your permission.”

Scarlett’s stare hardened for a moment during Moira’s speech, but her response died in her mouth before she could speak. After a few deep breaths, Scarlett whispered, “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you. I expect nothing but your honest opinion, and I will act only under your permission. I promise.” Moira stood and pressed a kiss to Scarlett’s forehead. “And if you want him, I will help you cut Mags out, one way or another, and he will be yours.”

Scarlett nodded, quickly wiping away tears that threatened to form in her eyes. The raider queen moved to leave but stopped, turned back and pulled Moira into a tight embrace. The Banshee seemed momentarily taken aback, but then wrapped her arms around Scarlett in return.

“Thank you, Moira.”

“Of course. I take care of my own,” Moira replied quietly.

* * *

_“He keeps hackin' and whackin' and smackin'! He keeps hackin' and whackin' and smackin'! He keeps hackin' and whackin' and smackin'! He just hacks! Whacks! Choppin' that meat!”_

“Aagh!” Simon all but launched himself to his feet at the sudden awakening, but was pulled back to the floor by Lilith’s presence in his bedroll. The mercenary grumbled a string of profanities, burying her face against Simon’s chest and covering her ears.

“Turn that shite off!” Cait groaned, burying her head inside of her bedroll. Even Dogmeat let out a low, soft howl of protest.

“Five more minutes, Blue, please,” Piper pleaded groggily. Rhiannon seemed not to hear the reporter as she shut off her Pip-Boy and all but scrambled out of her bedroll to begin getting ready.

“At least it’s not raining.” Preston sighed, grabbing his hat from where he’d left it the night before.

“Well, then it’s a good thing- oh wait, that’s right. We’ll be inside. Probably underground.” MacCready rolled his eyes as he began to gather his things together.

“I am very thankful for the clear skies, Mister Garvey,” Codsworth interjected, trying to be polite as the Minuteman frowned over at MacCready. “Less rain means less rust!”

“Those front doors are still barricaded shut,” Valentine pointed out to the group, “But there’s some scaffolding around the back of the building we can use to get on the roof.”

“Great.” Rhiannon nodded, double checking her submachine gun was loaded, “Let’s have some breakfast and move out.”

“Don’t we want to have some kind of plan?” Piper asked, finally crawling out of her bedroll.

“We can talk about it over breakfast,” The General insisted, digging through her bags for the food she’d packed.

“Another day, another dungeon crawl,” Simon sighed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Caldwell was listening to while working was "Grind" by Alice In Chains.
> 
> Speaking of the Overboss, we learned a fair bit about him didn't we? And Moira dropped some hints about her backstory too.
> 
> Also, just in case anyone was worried or wondering, Scarlett is 19 years old.
> 
> {So yes, the Harbingers DO have a heirarchy; they just haven't discussed it much because most of the gang so far has been viewed with outsiders around or between random members, but there are four ranks, the highest of which only has four (well... five now) members.
> 
> Members become 'Crows' when they finish training, and it's kind of the catch-all, standard rank. This includes most of the Harbingers.  
> The next rank up is the 'Ravens' who act essentially as lookouts, spies, and messengers; this includes raiders who have proven themselves to Moira.  
> The next rank up, and the only really achievable one, is the 'Spectres,' who are basically fighters/warriors, and the ones sent on more dangerous missions or given basic leadership over smaller groups.  
> The highest rank is the 'Omens,' of which there are only Sinead, Fontayne, Stitches, Ellison, and now Moth. Sinead is in charge of the Ravens (and Witch considers her to be *his* second), Fontayne is in charge of the Spectres, Stitches is their doctor/medic, of course, and Ellison is their head cook and in charge of food production. He's also the only one outside of Moira that the Mutants actually listen to. Witch and Moira are above any of the ranks. 
> 
> Also I really love and am proud of the evolving dynamic between Scarlett and Moira??? Moira went from "she's the Overboss's whore" to "This is my daughter and if you even so much as look at her funny I'll kill you." And honesty, I may or may not have actually cried while we wrote their scene together.}


	19. Here Comes Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon faces Kellogg, Scarlett faces her feelings for Caldwell, and Caldwell faces a grim reminder of his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Graphic Violence, Drug Use
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Metallica.

* * *

**CHAPTER NINETEEN**

**HERE COMES REVENGE**

* * *

**January 23rd, 2288.**

“Alright everyone, stay low and move slowly,” Valentine warned the group as they headed towards the back of Fort Hagen, “There are some defensive turrets on the roof, and I’ll bet you my hat that they aren’t friendly.”

“I should have gone in there last night and disarmed them,” Lilith mumbled under her breath. Simon raised an eyebrow at her. “What? It’s a cool hat.”

“I’m afraid I’m ill-equipped for stealth,” Codsworth replied, floating at the back of the line, “Perhaps I should stay out of the way and wait for your call?”

“Good idea, Codsworth,” Rhiannon turned back to give a nod to the Mr. Handy.

“Maybe Cait should wait with you,” Piper suggested carefully. “That way nobody gets caught alone.”

“Fine by me.” Cait shrugged, “Beats trying to sneak around.  _ Again _ . Because it went  _ so _ well last time.”

“Focus.” Rhiannon brought everyone’s attention back to her and Nick. “We’re gonna go slow, hit the turrets at the same time and bring them down. Then, once it’s clear, Lily can go back and get Codsworth and Cait. Then we’ll find an entrance. Let’s go.”

At the General’s word, everyone prepared their weapons. Preston cranked his laser musket. MacCready double checked his ammo clip was secure. Simon turned on Righteous Authority, grimacing at the name still scratched into the side of the laser rifle. Piper and Lilith made sure their pistols were loaded, and Valentine spun the chamber of his revolver.

Rhiannon led the group up the scaffolding. From their vantage point, a lone turret lay dormant in standby mode. “On ‘three’ we shoot it, okay?”

“Wait,  _ on _ three or  _ after _ three?” Lilith asked quickly. “Because sometimes people say ‘ _ on _ three’ and then they say ‘go’ and-”

“One, two, three,  _ then _ shoot,” Rhiannon clarified, “ _ After _ three.”

“Gotcha.”

“Okay.” Rhiannon turned back and took aim. “One. Two. Three. Shoot.”

On her mark, the collective all fired upon the turret. The machine exploded in a burst of flame and a scattering of metal.

“Good job,” The General nodded, “Now let’s get ready and do the same for the next one.”

For once, the party acted like a well-oiled machine, and it wasn’t long before the rooftop was cleared of its defenses. When the last turret was destroyed, Lilith turned back to fetch Codsworth and Cait.

“What do you think’s gonna be in there?” Simon asked as the party searched for an entrance, “It’s a pretty big building for one guy to hide out in.”

“That’s a good question, Simon,” Valentine hummed, lighting a cigarette. Afterwards, he held the flame out for Piper and MacCready each to take advantage of.

“My money’s on Institute Synths,” Piper replied.

“Oh, fer fuck’s sakes, Piper!” Cait groaned as she approached, “The Institute ain’t behind every cat stuck in a tree!”

“No, but Kellogg probably has ties to the Institute,” Piper reminded Cait, trying to keep her tone even, and mostly succeeding. “Who else steals babies?”

“Fairies, if y’all believe the stories,” Lilith piped up, giving Piper a gentle shove. Cait rolled her eyes, but seemed amused by the reply.

“Right, like they’d leave the Feywild for a shithole like this…” MacCready muttered under his breath.

“I don’t think Kellogg has connections with the fair folk,” Valentine sighed. “The Institute and their Synths aren’t a bad guess. Best lead we have.”

“I found something!” Rhiannon called the group over, “Looks like some kind of access hatch.”

“Let’s get in there and give Kellogg a piece of your mind then, Blue.”

“Or a bullet in the head.”

“…Yeah, or that.”

* * *

“Scar-Scar!’ Brownstone smiled as the raider queen threw open the door of his clinic. However, as he took in her state, his grin faded, “Whoa, why the long face? Do I gotta-”

“Your office. Now.” Scarlett responded sharply.

“Okay then, therapy time it is.” Brownstone shrugged, turning towards the waiting area. “Yo, watch this shit for me, make sure nobody steals jack.”

The only occupant looked around at the empty chairs, “You mean me?”

“No. I’m talking to Cuddles.”

“Wha-”

“Rhrrrh.”

The raider slowly turned towards what he  _ thought  _ was a stuffed Yao Guai, only for it to not only  _ move _ but lumber over behind the counter and sit down.

“Yo, what the fuck?!” The raider begun to panic, holding the sides of his head before gesturing wildly between where the bear was and where the bear had moved, “I mean- you’re seeing this shit too, right? What the fuck?! What- what the  _ fuck _ ?!”

“I don’t know,” Scarlett shrugged, “I grew up with this guy and I don’t even know. Life is just so goddamn  _ weird _ already, this may as well happen.”

“Hey! Wait! Is he gonna attack me?!” The raider desperately called to Brownstone and Scarlett as they abandoned him to go to the office.

“Now,” Brownstone pulled out a desk drawer filled with an assortment of Chems, “I’ve got some Daddy-O this time, and some Calmex… that shit is fuckin’  _ rare _ . It’s like some kind of-”

“Can... can we just talk this time, Uncle Allison?”

Brownstone’s face hardened upon the use of his true name, “Who the  _ fuck _ do I have to kill? Who fucking hurt you?”

“No one,” Scarlett assured the chem cook. She took a seat on his couch and sighed. “There’s just been... a lot going on in a short time since the Harbingers arrived.”

Brownstone put his feet up on the desk, grabbing the Daddy-O syringe and plunging it into his arm, “Hoo boy… yeah… yeah, a lot of shit happened… what’s on your mind?” 

Scarlett sat quietly for a moment, looking at her hands and trying to think of how to word what she wanted to say. With a deep breath, she finally looked up at her uncle. “Have you ever... been in love?”

Brownstone slowly pulled his feet off the desk and looked to the floor. Reaching into his desk, he found a cloth and wiped away the layers of dirt and paint on his face.

“Yeah. A long time ago. Before the scars. Before the paint. Before the clown act.”

“What... what does that feel like?”

“I don’t think I know anymore.” The man sighed, catching a glimpse of himself in the black screen of his terminal, “When I lost June… it felt like someone’d pulled the insides out of me. It was like the moment when you come down from a Day Tripper high… you go from feeling like sunshine and rainbows to wondering if the night’ll ever end.”

The Queen of Hearts processed his words, wrapping her arms around herself. “Do you think... do you think the Overboss… um…”

“I’ve been watching that man since I met him,” Brownstone replied, turning back to Scarlett, “Caldwell doesn’t love  _ anybody _ , not even himself.  _ Especially _ not himself. He got some of that deep-rooted trauma. I ain’t know what from… but if it keeps him from letting anyone get closer than a quick fuck… he must’ve lost someone too. I know I haven’t moved on, and I fuck once a year because of it. I can’t do more than that.”

“Right…” Scarlett shook her head a little, feeling almost more confused than when she’d arrived. “So if he was drunk, and say… just… kissed someone…”

“Intoxication in all its forms can reveal who men-  _ and _ women- really are,” Brownstone sighed, “I know the man takes chems like a  _ champ _ , just like me. Probably used to them enough to stay sane. But as far as I’ve seen, Caldwell don’t drink alcohol that often. He’s pretty well all Quantum. So, it stands to reason that if he’s drunk, he wouldn’t be as… like,  _ trained _ in keeping his walls up.  _ Might _ be a sign of true intent and thought.”

Scarlett looked like she wanted to throw up. She nodded, her arms tightening around herself, feeling suddenly very small. Very young. “Damn.  _ Fuck. _ ”

“Scarlett, honey…” Brownstone put his hands on his knees as he got to his feet, crossing the room to kneel on the floor beside his niece, “We’re raiders. Love,  _ true _ love, is… hard for us to find. When it’s found, it should be celebrated, not mocked. If Caldwell finds love, rejoice for him and whoever he’s found it with, even if it’s not you.”

“But… what if  _ I  _ love him?” Scarlett felt her eyes begin to burn, and she blinked rapidly to keep them from filling with tears.

“Do you?” Alestair asked, “Look deep inside your heart. Do you love  _ him  _ or the  _ attention _ and  _ affection _ he gives you?”

“I…” Scarlett’s vision began to blur now and she buried her face in her hands. “I don’t know. It’s just… It’s not… It’s not fair, she’s only been here for a few weeks, why should she-”

The Queen of Hearts stopped herself, her breath catching as she realized she’d said too much.

Brownstone sighed, gently stroking Scarlett’s hair, “I don’t know, kiddo. I don’t know.”

“I can’t even hate her for it,” Scarlett continued, when she realized her uncle didn’t seem to care who it was she was talking about. “What do I do?”

“Like I said, true love is hard to find for our kind. If Caldwell finds love elsewhere, rejoice for him and for her.” Alestair kept trying to comfort his niece, “Sometimes we gotta step aside for the whims of fate, but fate rewards us for abiding.”

Scarlett said nothing now, considering this for a minute. Finally, she nodded, slowly this time. “Alright. I’ll... I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Come back if you need to talk s’more.” Brownstone rested his head against Scarlett’s, “You’re all I got left, y’know.”

“And I’m not going anywhere,” Scarlett promised, hugging her uncle tightly. “Thank you.”

“No problem, kid.” Brownstone hugged her back, “Now git, I gotta put my makeup back on.”

* * *

“Well, if it isn’t my old friend, the frozen TV dinner…” Kellogg’s voice taunted through the intercom. Rhiannon and the party had fought their way through the fort past dozens of synths, precisely as Piper anticipated. Now, making their way down another short flight of steps, they all stopped dead in their tracks. “Last time we met you were cozying up to the peas and apple cobbler.”

The sound of that voice, that awful voice, made the hair on the back of Rhiannon’s neck stand on end, and she clutched her gun with whitening knuckles.

“I hate this guy already,” Simon growled.

“I hate to agree with you, but I agree with you,” MacCready muttered back. Burning with hatred, Rhiannon began to storm forward, rounding the corner and heading down a short hall. Before she could throw open the door at the end, however, Lilith caught her by the arm.

“Wait! The door’s trapped.” Lily moved past, pointing to a small Tesla coil on the ceiling. She knelt and began to work on the mechanism carefully. In a few moments, the door was clear, and Rhiannon immediately shouldered her way ahead.

Moving through what looked like the remains of an office, the group nearly had to jog to catch up with the general. By the time they heard the voice come through again, Rhiannon had already single-handedly shot out another defense turret.

“Sorry  _ your _ house has been a wreck for two hundred years… but I don’t need a roommate.  _ Leave _ .” The intercom warned the group as they approached another door.

“Yeah, yeah, insert threat here.” Cait scoffed as they moved on to the next area, “Coward.”

“I hope I get to put at least one blast in this asshole,” Preston mumbled, cranking his laser musket.

“Never expected  _ you _ to come knocking on my door.” Kellogg mused as the group proceeded through the halls of the military base, “Gave you fifty-fifty odds of making it to Diamond City in one piece… after that? Figured the Commonwealth would chew you up like jerky.”

“You know what happens when you assume?” Codsworth replied to the voice, his mechanical voice sounding uncharacteristically hostile, “You make an  _ ass _ out of  _ you _ and  _ me _ .”

The next room was something of a hallway. The left wall was all chain and metal, with mag-locked doors, another room cloaked in shadow on the other side. The right wall was lined with computers and other Pre-War equipment. At the end of the hallway, another mag-locked door, forcing the group to take a right turn into yet another hallway.

“Look, you’re pissed off. I get it. I do. But whatever you hope to accomplish in here? It’s not gonna go your way.”

“Guy sure likes the sound of his own voice.” Valentine drawled. Rhiannon made no outward reply, her jaw clenched so tightly that it was beginning to grow painful.  

“He’s underestimating us,” Piper grumbled.

They moved through a few more side rooms, one of which held a few bunk beds. Lilith slowed to a halt looking at a terminal on the wall. She tapped a few of the keys, then looked over her shoulder. “Huh... Valentine, give me a hand with this, would ya?”

“Yeah, no problem.” Nick walked over, and took a look at the screen. A moment after he began typing, the terminal signaled a successful login, “All yours, Miss Rook.”

“Thank you kindly.” Lilith hit the keyboard next, and after a few seconds, there was a low hum that they could hear around them, and the lights in the room flickered a bit brighter as some power was rerouted. “And just like that, no more turrets.”

“Kinda… weird how we haven’t run into any Synths in awhile,” MacCready commented.

“Thanks for that, now they’re gonna be crawling outta the damn walls!” Cait let her head fall back in frustration.

“Kellogg probably told them all to heel,” Lily mused. At her words, Dogmeat moved to her side and sat. “…Yeah, like that.”

“Good boy.” Simon reached into a pouch and gave Dogmeat a little piece of a cookie. The German Shepherd’s tail wagged excitedly as he scarfed down the treat.

“Woof!”

“Let’s keep moving,” Rhiannon said tensely. She was shifting impatiently in the doorway, and barely gave the others enough time to begin following her before she set off again.

“You got guts and determination, and that’s admirable…” Kellogg’s voice once again materialized after they’d passed by a medical wing and a cafeteria and descended another set of stairs into another ominous hallway, glowing with a low red light, “But you are in over your head in ways you can’t possibly comprehend.”

“Stimpack,” MacCready called out, opening a medical kit that rested on a set of assorted boxes.

“Always good to have extra, just in case,” Preston responded.

“It’s not too late.” Kellogg’s voice resumed by the time they’d reached the far end of the hall. “Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option. Not a lot of people can say that.”

“Wow, he must not wanna face you.” Simon glanced over at Rhiannon, but she seemed only more determined with each time Kellogg addressed them.

“Then he shouldn’t have killed my husband and kidnapped my son,” Rhiannon replied in a shockingly cold voice.

Simon cast a worried look around to the other members of the group. Piper, Lily, and Preston each wore a similar expression, and even MacCready seemed uneased by Rhiannon’s darkened tone. Codsworth was impossible to read, and Cait appeared apathetic.

After weaving through the ruined suites, the group came to a red door, an American flag to either side. Rhiannon raised her gun and without waiting on the group, kicked the door open with a feral scream.

On the other side, the empty room appeared to have been converted into a living space. There was an assortment of cooking and medical supplies, as well as some very clean, very out of place furniture.

“He’s certainly been staying here. I can smell the old merc’s cigars.” Nick commented as he looked around the room.

“But where is he?!” Rhiannon desperately searched the room, “Where the  _ fuck _ is he?!”

“Blue, over here.” Piper was across the room at a sealed door. As soon as the others turned their eyes to her, there was a crackling sigh over the intercom.

“Okay. You made it.” Kellogg sounded... tired. “I’m just up ahead. My Synths are standing down. Let’s talk.”

On its own, the door unlatched and swung open. Rhiannon wasted no time in rushing through it.

“Rhiannon! Wait!” Simon reached out to grab her arm, but just barely missed.

“Shit,” Piper cursed, hurrying after Rhiannon. Codsworth zipped by the others with surprising speed and agility, rushing to keep up. After less than a beat, the rest of the party followed suit, heading down another short, crimson hall, up a few steps, and to another door that also opened at their arrival.

As Rhiannon stepped into the room, lights around the walls began to click on, one by one. Synths, a good dozen, moved to circle the room, their weapons drawn, but lowered. And at last, from around the lines of cubicles, Kellogg stepped into view, his hands raised, but one holding a pistol.

“And there she is,” Kellogg said, locking eyes with Rhiannon from across the room. “The most resilient woman in the Commonwealth.”

“You murdering, kidnapping psychopath,” Rhiannon spat, taking a few steps forward. Behind her, the party all took aim at a different Synth. Codsworth, however, hovered just behind her, the shutters on his eyes narrowed as though he were glaring. “Give me my son. Give me Shaun! Now!”

“Straight to it, then? Okay. Fine. Your son, Shaun… great kid. A little  _ older _ than you may have expected-” Kellogg smirked, as if at some inside joke- “But I’m guessing you’ve figured that out by now. But if you’re hoping for some kind of… happy reunion? Ain’t gonna happen. Your boy’s not here.”

“Fuck you, Kellogg!” Rhiannon grabbed the front of Kellogg’s shirt suddenly, shoving the barrel of her gun under his chin. “Tell me where he is, dammit! Where the fuck is my son?!”

“Fine,” Kellogg replied in the same tired tone he’d been speaking with for the entirety of their conversation, “I guess you’ve earned that much. Shaun’s in a good place. Where he’s safe, and comfortable, and loved. A place he calls home. The Institute.”

Rhiannon let the mercenary go, taking a stunned step back. So it was true. Piper and Valentine were right. But that meant... her son was farther out of reach than she could imagine. “No... We’ve come so far.”

“Yes, you have.” Kellogg sighed, and for a moment, Rhiannon thought she saw… regret in his eyes, “And believe it or not… I’m actually kind of  _ sorry _ that you wasted your time. In another life, you probably would’ve been a good mother. But here? In this terrible reality? You just don’t get that chance with Shaun.”

Kellogg now took a few steps away, and the tension in the room began to mount again. “But now... I think we’ve been talking long enough. We both know how this has to end. So... you ready?”

“In a hundred years… when I finally die…” Rhiannon growled, a sudden surge of blinding rage welling up within her, “I only hope I go to hell so I can kill you all over again, you piece of shit.”

“Hostile detected.” The deep monotone of one of the Institute Synths warned. Simultaneously, all of them raised their guns.

“Now!” Piper called out. The party released the shots they’d held aimed, and several of the Synths immediately crumpled, the remains of their heads sparking. As they dove for cover, Kellogg grabbed something from a pocket, and vanished before Rhiannon’s eyes.

“Kellogg’s got a stealth boy, be careful!” Simon called to the others as he turned to fire at one of the remaining Synths.

Something shimmered to Rhiannon’s left, and she swung out with her fist, connecting with something solid, and hearing Kellogg cry out in surprise. By the time she’d struck forward again, however, he’d moved past.

“Destroy them with-” A synth spoke up before Valentine fired a bullet into its ocular receptor.

“Are Synths normally this chatty?” Cait demanded as she fired in random directions, hoping to catch Kellogg in her shotgun’s blast.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Lily replied, a few well-placed bullets taking down another Synth. One extra bullet struck something behind it, and a splash of blood hit the floor. “Oh, shit! He’s over-”

A cacophonous boom cut through the room from where the blood had hit the floor. A sound that Rhiannon knew all too well, and heard in her nightmares.

“Lily!” Simon and MacCready called in unison as they watched their friend fall to the ground, holding her side. Blood seeped between her fingers. With a vicious snarl, Dogmeat rushed around the cubicles and tackled the invisible man to the floor.

“Son of a-” Kellogg’s voice growled before Dogmeat’s body lifted into the air and was thrown into the nearby wall.

“Dogmeat!” Piper shouted as the German Shepherd yelped in pain.

“Have at thee!” Codsworth shouted, spraying a sea of flame over the area Kellogg had been spotted, the outline of his form revealed in the flames. A moment later, another shot from that awful magnum rang through the air and sent Codsworth flying. He clattered to the floor and spun, skidding to a halt.

“Codsworth!” Rhiannon screamed. Livid, she fired her submachine gun at the space Kellogg was occupying- right as his stealth boy faded out and he appeared only a few feet away from her.

Kellogg grabbed the submachine gun and yanked it out of the general’s hands, throwing it across the room. He then struck her across the face with his magnum, sending her to the floor.

“Rhiannon,” Lily called out weakly, kicking Alice across the floor towards her. Rhiannon crawled forward and grabbed the bat, full of crooked nails, wrapped in barbed wire, and meshed with razor blades.

“Fuck. You.” Rhiannon climbed to her knees and swung the bat upwards, striking Kellogg squarely between the legs.

While seemingly unaffected by nearly every other strike he’d taken up to this point, Kellogg howled in pain. The Institute agent stumbled backwards, aiming his magnum at Rhiannon despite his unsteady stance. Rhiannon got back to her feet and swung Alice down onto his arm, his bullet blasting into the floor.

The bat came down on his shoulder, his head, his back, and then his head, again. And again. And again. And again. Rhiannon saw nothing but red, and visions of Vincent’s death, Shaun screaming as he was pulled from familiar arms and carried away by a stranger. She brought the bat down again. But Kellogg had stopped moving. She did not stop.

“Rhiannon.” Valentine grabbed her arm as she raised it for another swing, “That’s  _ enough _ . He’s well past dead.”

“Yeah, you might’ve killed his ghost too.” Simon added as he and MacCready helped Lily to her feet.

Rhiannon stared down at the mess of a body before her. There was blood, sure, but much of what she saw scattered on the floor were wires, mechanical pieces integrated with flesh, sparking circuit boards.

“All this tech,” she breathed, slowly lowering the baseball bat. She knelt down, lifting a strange piece of metal and circuits out of what remained of his head. “You were barely even human.”

“I guess the Institute played the cyborg card along with Synths.” Piper stammered, unable to look in the direction of Kellogg’s remains. Preston, meanwhile, had hurried over to Codsworth.

“He’s still functioning,” the Minuteman called over, “But just barely!”

“Fuck, it’s getting cold,” Lilith mumbled, leaning into MacCready’s shoulder. Blood was now running down her side and leg, dripping onto the floor with more rapidity. “It’s real cold.”

“I can fix Codsworth, but Lily’s gotta get some stimpacks in her, like five minutes ago.” Simon waved over Piper, “Take over for me, get her to that bed we passed.”

“I’m on it.” Piper carefully took Lily, helping MacCready pull her towards the door. Before she left, she added, “Keep an eye on Blue.”

“Will do.” Valentine nodded, guiding Rhiannon away from Kellogg’s corpse.

“Damn.” Cait whistled as she surveyed the scene, “Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“Hey, Garvey,” Nick called over, “Come get Rhiannon out of here while I get whatever intel I can find on this terminal.”

“On it.” Preston reluctantly moved away from Codsworth as Simon’s bloodied hands took over. The Minuteman hurried over and took Rhiannon by the elbows, leading her out after MacCready and Piper.

Once they were in the hall, Rhiannon’s knees buckled, and Preston barely kept her from hitting the floor. The general had silent tears running down her face now, and a hand covered her mouth as a sob escaped her. Preston managed to guide Rhiannon a few more feet, before sinking down on the top step and cradling his general as she broke down and wept into his shoulder.

“Hey... you did it,” he spoke softly, one hand moving in gentle circles across her back. “You killed him, and you know where your son is.”

“Oh, god... oh, my god...” Rhiannon’s entire body wracked with each sob and shuddering breath that escaped her. “They have Shaun. They have Shaun.”

“We’ll get him back,” Preston murmured, “I promise. No matter what, we’re gonna get your boy back to you.”

* * *

_ “This is bullshit,” _ William Black thought to himself for the fifth time since leaving the Parlor.  _ “If she wants the Overboss for herself, why not just kill the bitch and cut out the competition?” _

Whatever. He had a job to do. He even managed to find some Pre-War cologne called ‘Sex Panther’ to splash himself with. According to the label, it was made with ‘real panther.’ Whatever that was.

And so, with the overabundant confidence of a drunk Pack member trying to tip a brahmiluff, William headed towards where the Court of Murder had carved out a small section of Nuka Town. Approaching the market, he was surprised to see his quarry outside of her territory; Scarlett was engaged in a conversation with the Banshee.

A part of William’s brain told him to abort mission and try again later. However, he ignored this nagging feeling and continued.

“No, if you’re not on chems, you can get through the ribs easier than the sternum,” the white-haired raider queen was saying, with a shake of her head. “Punch from the side, and up.”

“Maybe if you’re precise, but-” Scarlett responded, but stopped and sniffed the air. “What the fuck is that?”

“Desire, m’lady.” William tipped an invisible hat as he slunk up beside Scarlett, “My queen. Banshee.”

“…It smells like pure gasoline,” the Banshee deadpanned, staring icily at the Operator.

“That’s putting it kindly.” Scarlett attempted to plug her nose, “It smells like shit and burning hair.”

“Desire… is known to… smell like that… on occasion,” Will mumbled. The women stared at him before sharing a look with one another.

“Can we help you with something, William?” The Banshee finally asked.

“Well, I believe Scarlett can.” William smirked, “You know, your daddy must be a drug dealer, because you’re  _ dope _ .”

“…My  _ uncle  _ is a drug dealer,” Scarlett corrected, glaring at the Operator.

“Do you happen to have an inhaler? Because you took my breath away,” William tried again to impress her.

“ _ Jesus _ ,” the Banshee sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Uh... Do you have a map? Because-”

“If you say that you’re ‘lost in my eyes,’ I’m going to fucking stab you.” Scarlett lost her patience and drew her knife.

“Whoa, chill, babe!” William raised his hands and took a step backwards, “If you come at me, that’s breaking the peace treaty. The Overboss would wring your neck!”

“Not if they don’t find your body,” Moira interjected, putting an arm around Scarlett’s shoulders. “Be a good dog and go home.”

“But I-” William started to protest, but both women glared back icily at him, “Whatever. You’re not even a natural redhead.”

“I dye it with blood,” Scarlett responded with a wicked grin. A smirk tugged now at the Banshee’s lips.

“Yeah, well... this is your loss. I could give it to you twice as good as the Overboss.” William backed into something, “Watch it, ass-”

William turned around to see the Overboss himself, arms crossed, glaring down at him from beyond his sunglasses.

“Overboss Caldwell! Hey! Good to see you!” The Operator attempted a nervous smile.

“Mr. Black.” Caldwell spoke with an even tone, “What was it you were saying just now?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing at all. Just… leaving.”

“Change your pants, you smell like shit.” Caldwell commanded, pushing the Operator out of his way.

William hurried away, sparing only a glance back towards the Overboss and the pair of warrior women. This was a complete and utter disaster. He should’ve listened to that little voice in the back of his head and waited until Scarlett was alone or-

“Yo, Willy-Billy!”

Will’s head snapped in the direction of Mr. Brownstone, emerging from a nearby alley.

“Hey, sorry, not buying today, and I really need to get-”

In a flash, Brownstone grabbed the Operator by the neck and shoved him against the wall.

“If you  _ ever _ try and  _ fuck _ with my niece again, I will pluck out your  _ eyes _ , cut out your  _ nuts _ , and  _ swap _ ‘em. I will  _ massacre  _ you. Am I fucking clear?”

The chem dealer’s tone lacked any sort of the clownish delight Brownstone was known for. In its place, a hard edge to a low, guttural growl, and each word was sharply pronounced. William nodded his head rapidly.

“Good boy. Run home, now. And don’t bother tellin’ nobody about our chat. No one would ever believe you.”

* * *

“I think I’m good,” Lilith said, watching the second stimpack be pulled from her side.

“Did you hear the  _ sound  _ that gun made? It blew Codsworth across the room.” MacCready responded as he searched his coat for a third stimpack, “I’m not taking any chances.”

“Woof,” Dogmeat added, licking Lilith’s fingers from the side of the bed.

“Alright boy,” Lily sighed, giving the dog’s chin a scratch. “If you think so, then I won’t argue.”

“Shhhoot.” MacCready nearly cursed, “Hey, Dogmeat, can you see if someone has an extra stimpack?”

“Bark!” Dogmeat trotted off towards where they’d fought Kellogg and his Synths.

“See if someone’s got some Fancy Lads, or Sugar Bombs,” Lily called after the dog.

“Sugar Bombs,” MacCready repeated flatly, with a smile tugging at his lips, “You just got shot with a .44 magnum, and you’re gonna stuff your face with old cereal?”

“Hey, it’s got a lot of sugar! Hence the name. You want me passing out on you on the way out of here?” Lily stuck her tongue out playfully.

“No, but what are you gonna eat it with? Your hands, like some kind of-”

“Yep, and no milk. Just to  _ really _ bug you.”

“Oh my God,” Piper groaned from across the room, “You two are so sweet you’re gonna give  _ me  _ a cavity!”

“Not sweet enough to keep me from feeling like I just got off the teacup ride at Nuka World. You have anything sugary?”

“Of course I do!” Piper laughed, reaching into her coat as she approached, “Feel like a Nuka Cola? I’ve got some bubblegum too.”

“You’re an angel, Piper,” Lily replied, carefully sitting up in bed.

“Well, hey there handsome…” Cait wandered into the room, slinking an arm around MacCready’s waist, “Why don’t we see how the mattresses are in the-”

“Sorry Cait,” MacCready pulled away, “I’m making sure Rook doesn’t die on us.”

“She’ll be fine with Piper.” Cait insisted.

“I’m not so sure about that… her idea of medical attention seems to be a pack of gum.”

“Hey!” Piper protested.

“Fine,” Cait huffed, stomping back towards the room where it all…  _ happened _ . As the pit fighter exited, she passed by Dogmeat, who carried a stimpack carefully in his jaws.

“Cready, I’m fine,” Lily said with a roll of her eyes. “Go… have fun.”

“Later,” MacCready insisted, taking the stimpack from the German Shepherd, “I can’t replace my partner if she kicks the bucket.”

“Whatever.” Lily took the stick of gum and opened cola from Piper and leaned back against the bed. After a long drink from the bottle, “Where’s Simon?”

“Funny you should ask,” Simon said as he stepped out of the hallway, “Just finished fixing up Codsworth.”

“He’s all good?” Lily smiled a little at the mechanic as he entered the room.

“Well, I did what I could with what I had,” Simon frowned, “He’ll be fine, but I want to do another run on him once we’re back home at my workshop-”

“Hey,” MacCready stood up abruptly and grabbed Simon by the bicep, “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Simon carefully read MacCready’s face, searching for any signs of the hostility present in their previous private conversation.

“Alright.”

As the men stepped back into the hall, Lilith clapped a hand to her chest. “Oh no… MacCready’s not watching me intently… I’m fading so fast… Everything… going dark… there’s a light…”

“I’m right here, y’know?” Piper rolled her eyes.

“Laugh it up, Rook,” MacCready called over his shoulder, before leading Simon back down the hall. When they’d stopped, Simon leaned against the wall.

“What’s this about? Gonna threaten me some more?” The mechanic asked.

“I wanted to apologize, actually…” MacCready replied, sounding a little defeated, “If Rook’s happy, then we won’t have any problems. But if you hurt her… I defer to my previous statement.”

“Noted.” Simon nodded, “Thanks MacCready.”

“Yeah, whatever, man.” The rifleman rolled his eyes, punching Simon in the arm, “Now go check on your girlfriend.”

“Wait, what?” Simon blinked, “She said that? That I’m her-”

“I’m kidding, back off.” MacCready gave Simon a light shove as he passed by.

The mechanic lingered for a moment before sighing and returning to Lilith’s side, where the mercenary was carrying a conversation with Piper while Dogmeat had curled up beside her on the bed. Cait and Valentine were absent, likely still in the other room. However, Preston had led Rhiannon into the room as well, and they were seated on the couch, Codsworth hovering near them, but low to the ground, his eyes moving between the humans slowly.

Rhiannon stared vacantly at the opposite wall, her hands latched tightly onto Preston’s coat, but she’d ceased crying now. Preston kept his arms around the woman, wishing he felt less helpless and had some way of making her hurt less.

“Well, he’s not full of bullet holes. That’s a good sign,” Piper remarked, looking up as Simon reentered the room. Lily laughed a little at that, one hand buried in Dogmeat’s fur, the other holding her bottle of cola.

“Nope. Not this time, at least.” Simon responded, sitting down on the edge of Lily’s bed, “How are you doing?”

“Better,” Lilith replied, offering a small smile. “Not bleeding. That sure helps.”

“Good,” Simon pressed his lips to her head. The woman’s smile widened a little, but she hid it with another drink from her cola.

“Should we stay here overnight?” Preston finally spoke up, though his voice was still soft. “Or head back to our last campsite?”

“We’ll be  _ safer _ in here,” Valentine commented as he walked into the room, “And the beds would be a nice change, but… personally, I feel like we need to get away from the room where it happened.”

“Yeah.” Preston looked back down at Rhiannon, still catatonic, still staring into nothingness.

“And Sunshine Tidings Co-Op is just to the north, right?” Simon pulled up his Pip-Boy, “It’ll be easy to avoid the raiders that’re holed up in the Federal Ration Stockpile, we’ll just skirt westward.”

“What say you, mum?” Codsworth’s metal claw rested against Rhiannon’s arm. She nodded mutely.

“Alright, let’s go for it,” Preston agreed, giving Rhiannon’s back another rub to try and shake her from her stupor.

“I unlocked the doors from the terminal. We can take the elevator back to the roof.” Valentine nodded towards the room they’d fought Kellogg in.

“Can you walk?” Simon asked, glancing from his map and up towards Lily. She shrugged.

“Probably.”

“Good enough.”

“Rhiannon, come on,” Preston urged, helping his general to her feet again. She seemed to slowly be coming back to her senses, blinking around the room.

“We’re ready to go?” Rhiannon asked, her voice strangely fragile.

“Yeah. Come on, Blue,” Piper joined Preston at Rhiannon’s side, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat hopped off the bed. Trotting over, he licked Rhiannon’s hand and pressed himself against her side. Absentmindedly, Rhiannon ran her hand along his neck and gave him a few pats.

“Onwards and upwards then,” Lily sighed, carefully getting back to her feet. She winced a few times, but found her footing easily enough.

The group crowded around Rhiannon, shielding her from the state of the other room as they led her towards the elevator. Cait and MacCready joined them in the lift, the ride upwards taking a normal amount of time… but it certainly felt that it took an eternity.

When the lift doors opened, they saw the mag-locked door they’d spotted when they first searched the roof for their entry.

“I got it.” Simon stepped forward, typing into the terminal. After a moment, the door opened.

Nothing could’ve prepared them for what they saw.

An enormous zeppelin-like airship sailed through the sky, flanked by Vertibirds. Occasionally, a mechanical arm would pull a Vertibird from the sky to dock, or let one fly into the air. Searchlights lit up the night sky and surveyed the ground around the airship’s trajectory.

“Holy shite. What the hell is that thing?” Cait’s eyes widened as she leaned out to watch the airship pass.

“People of the Commonwealth, do  _ not  _ interfere… our intentions are peaceful!” A voice boomed over the horizon, “We are… the Brotherhood of Steel!”

“Son of a-” MacCready barely caught himself. “It’s the goddamn Brotherhood of Steel. What the hell are they doing here?”

“By jove! The ‘Brotherhood of Steel?’ Do you suppose it’s the military?” Codsworth asked as his three eyes surveyed the airship and the Vertibirds around it.

“I… don’t believe it…” Piper gasped. “Have you ever seen anything like that?! The airship?! God, they must have an entire  _ army  _ on that thing!”

“That airship was  _ quite  _ impressive! Whoever this ‘Brotherhood’ is, let’s hope they’re friendly.” Codsworth commented.

“These guys know how to make an entrance, no doubt about that.” Preston shook his head slightly, a little dumbfounded.

“I’m not superstitious, but seein’ that ship fly overhead give me the chills. I don’t think anythin’ good can come from this… not one bit.” Cait pointed at the airship as it continued to carve through the skyline.

“‘Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing,” Nick murmured as he watched the others all crane their necks and eyes to better observe the massive ship’s trajectory.

The Synth sighed, and lit up a cigarette. “Flying that ship into the heart of the Commonwealth. Mark my words, the Brotherhood’s here to start a war.”

“This is… a  _ lot _ .” Simon finally spoke up, “This has been a fucking  _ day _ and I think we all need to… take a break.”

“We need time to figure out how to get into the Institute, and taking some time to rest would certainly help with that.” Nick agreed, “What d’ya say we take… two months and come back to it?”

“Two months?” Rhiannon rounded on the detective, aghast. “Nick, they have Shaun, and you want me to wait around for two  _ months _ ?!”

“If he’s with the Institute, then he’s not going anywhere anytime soon.” Valentine replied calmly.

“And, no offense Rhiannon,” Simon put himself between the general and the Synth, “But you are really,  _ really _ strung out and stressed right now. You need to relax and recover from everything that’s happened today.”

“I can’t wait that long,” Rhiannon insisted.

“Three weeks, then?” Piper countered. “Then… we meet in Diamond City, and take our time discussing options.”

“Counter-offer,” Simon rebuked, “ _ One _ month. Rhiannon, I  _ really  _ think you need some time to wind down from what just went down, but if two months is too long… I think one month is the  _ shortest _ you should be resting.”

Rhiannon looked like she wanted to argue, but the faces of her friends and allies all silently spoke their agreement with Simon’s words. After a beat, she sighed. “Okay. Okay, fine. One month. No longer.”

“We’ll rest in Sunshine Tidings, then split up from there until…” Simon peered at his Pip-Boy, “February twenty-fourth. Unless we want to hang out or something.”

“Cready and I are going to have to take some other work if we’re breaking for  _ that  _ long,” Lilith remarked, looking to the rifleman.

“You could always help the Minutemen.” Preston offered.

“And what do the Minutemen pay?” Lily asked with a wink.

“Hey everyone, crazy idea,” Simon interrupted, “Maybe we get a move on and get some sleep?”

“We can make plans later,” MacCready agreed. “Let’s go.”

As the group set out, Rhiannon cast one last glance at the lights of the Brotherhood airship, still barely visible on the darkening horizon. Despite the sense of dread the others had expressed, and despite the rage and anguish she’d had to process already today, she felt... calm. There was, for a moment, a sense of peace, of determination. Surrounded by her companions, each one personally determined to see her quest to its completion, she knew there was hope. She  _ would _ see her son again.

* * *

“I told you. You  _ like  _ the fair lady.”

Caldwell glared at the grey Super Mutant, his pacing coming to an abrupt pause, “Fuck you, Goliath. I was  _ well _ past drunk.”

“Then the act was genuine.”

“It was  _ clouded _ by alcoholic haze and without proper consent,” The Overboss growled as he resumed his stride, “That  _ alone _ is enough to shame me. I can’t change this new addition to my past. Too late for that now. She knows too much… she knows too much…”

“And you can’t harm her,” Goliath finished, “Not without consequence.”

“She reeled back… was it because she was merely surprised or-?”

“She forgave you nonetheless.”

“And now she insists on having a bodyguard at every meeting.” Caldwell sighed, “I suppose in her shoes I would as well… but-”

Suddenly, Gage burst into the room, “Boss! You gotta get on the radio, right now!”

“What’s happening? Who is it?” Caldwell’s head snapped in Gage’s direction, secretly relieved the previous conversation was put on hold.

“Charon. He says it’s urgent.”

The Overboss stalked over to his radio, turning a few dials and flipping a few switches before picking up the receiver. His agent’s voice already repeated through the speakers as Caldwell pressed the trigger to transmit his voice.

“Mephistopheles, this is Charon, do you copy?

“This is Mephistopheles. Report.” Caldwell’s deep voice carried into the radio.

“There’s some kind of… airship, flying overhead. Big enough to be carrying Vertibirds with it. They’re calling themselves the… Brotherhood of Steel. Please advise.”

Caldwell paled and his mouth dropped open, the receiver falling from his hands. The Overboss stumbled away from the radio, towards the many windows of the Fizztop Grille.

“Sir? Mephistopheles? Overboss? Please advise!” Charon’s voice insisted through the speakers. Gage grabbed the receiver.

“This is Second Son, please hold. Mephistopheles is… preoccupied.”

“Standing by for orders.” Charon responded.

Gage hung up the receiver and turned towards the Overboss, “Uhh… Caldwell?”

“ _ Maxon… _ ”

As he stared over Nuka World, his sunglasses cast aside onto one of the nearby tables, pure rage boiled over into Caldwell’s expression. After several attempts to suppress it, Caldwell gave into the rage, letting out a feral scream that echoed across Nuka World.

After the last echo faded into the distance, Caldwell grabbed the receiver, “Charon I want you to infiltrate the Brotherhood of Steel. Do whatever it takes, short of betraying the Doomed. Ask for any resources and you will have them. This is the most important mission I could give you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Charon responded immediately.

“Pass to us any and all information regarding the Brotherhood you discover, special attention to their recruiting process and whatever they are looking for. We will begin grooming members of the Doomed to join you ASAP. They will be under your command.”

“Yes sir. Charon out.”

Caldwell dropped the receiver, storming towards the door.

“Boss! Where are you going?” Gage called after him, having to jog to keep pace with the Overboss.

“To see how far along Lizzie is with the armored hazmat suit. If it’s ready, then good. If not, I will do without.”

“What the fuck’s going on? What’s got you so fired up that you’re gonna shake this funk you’ve been in?”

Caldwell stopped, slowly turning to stare at Gage, his steel blue eyes burning like coals in the night.

“ _ Revenge _ .”

* * *

Meanwhile, a thunderstorm raged over the community of Sanctuary Hills. As the thunder rolled and lightning flashed across the sky, no one noticed the Brotherhood Vertibird approach through the dark and the rain, nor saw it touch down atop a nearby hill. No one heard the sounds of their descent into Vault 111, and if they did… they merely assumed the noise to be a symptom of the storm.


	20. The Memory Remains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a month of recuperation, Rhiannon dives into Kellogg's memories to uncover the secrets of the Institute. Meanwhile, Caldwell finishes conquering Nuka World and prepares his forces to invade the Commonwealth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And one month passes in the story... 
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Metallica.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY**

**THE MEMORY REMAINS**

* * *

**February 24th, 2288.**

As February waned, the temperature in the Commonwealth began to slowly rise with the sun. Rhiannon and Simon, led by her faithful canine companion, descended the concrete steps of the ruined stands that encircled Diamond City.

“Extra, extra, read all about it!” Nat, Piper’s little sister, barked to the residents of the great green jewel, “Minutemen retake Fort Independence!”

“That kid’s got lungs.” Simon commented, “How is the Castle? Still smell like Mirelurk?”

“Ugh, we  _ finally _ got the last of the nests cleared out last week,” Rhiannon replied. “There were so many  _ in  _ the walls!”

“And now you’ve gotta  _ eat  _ it, or it’s a waste…” Simon made a disgusted face, “I don’t mind Mirelurk once in a while, but the thought of eating it every day, even more than once every two weeks? I couldn’t do that.”

“Why do you think Preston and I have been so keen on helping out in Sanctuary?” Rhiannon laughed. “He’s a saint for offering to stay behind this time.”

“So you’re still living in Sanctuary?” Simon asked, “I almost would’ve thought you’d move to the Castle, to take care of the whole… Minuteman thing.”

“I’ll be spending more time there, that’s for sure.” Rhiannon sighed. “But… Sanctuary Hills is- and always has been- home.”

Simon nodded in response but said nothing as they turned into the long alleyway where Nick Valentine had set up shop. As they headed past the neon sign and shouldered open the door, the pair found a reporter and detective waiting.

“Well, hey there, Blue,” Piper smiled over at them as they entered, “You’re looking much better than the last time I saw you… no offense.”

“None taken.” Rhiannon offered Piper a smile. “I… I probably did need some time to clear my head. I  _ feel _ better.”

“Told ya.” Simon muttered under his breath.

“Well,” Valentine began, getting to his feet. The Synth looked between the three humans, and the dog who had made himself comfortable on the sofa. “You ready to take the next step, Rhiannon?”

“As ready as ever,” Rhiannon replied, nodding with conviction. “Next stop, the Institute, right?”

“Yeah. And that’s where the problem lies.” Valentine fished a cigarette out of his coat pocket.

“I’ve been investigating these creeps for over a year… and I’ve never found  _ anything _ relating to where the Institute could be. Heck, not even  _ Nick _ knows, and he’s a Synth,” Piper explained.

“Security protocols probably strip that part out,” Valentine mused.

“And the one person who  _ would  _ know is a puddle of blood in Fort Hagen.” Simon kicked a tin can across the room.

“A murderer and a kidnapper gets his brains blown out by an avenging parent…” Piper dropped into the couch, “It’d be a great ending to the story if we didn’t still have to solve the biggest mystery in the Commonwealth.”

“Gets his brains blown out… His brains…” Valentine spoke slowly as the pieces of a theory came together.

“Got something, Nick?” Simon asked.

“There’s a place in Goodneighbor called the Memory Den. Lets you relive past moments in your mind as clear as the day they happened.” The detective elaborated, “If anyone could get a dead brain to sing, it’d be Dr. Amari, the mind behind the memories.”

“Wait, do we still have that… thing… that was in Kellogg’s head?” Simon asked, looking over to Rhiannon. As everyone’s eyes turned to her, the general slowly reached into her pocket and drew out the circuit she’d found, still partially coated in dried blood.

“Gross,” Piper remarked, her nose wrinkling.

“Alright, let’s get this… thing… to Dr. Amari.” Simon took a step back from the cybernetics and brain matter in Rhiannon’s hand, “Piper, you coming with?”

“No can do, I’m afraid,” Piper frowned, “Gotta stick around home for a little bit, make sure Nat doesn’t get into trouble.”

“So it’ll be the three of us, then?” Simon shrugged.

“Woof!”

“Okay, four.”

“Lilith and MacCready said they’d be here tomorrow, so we can pick them up when we get to Goodneighbor.” Nick lit up his cigarette finally, and took a drag. Dogmeat’s tail began to wag quickly, his ears perking up.

“Then you shouldn’t waste any time,” Piper smirked at Simon, “The grease monkey’s gotta go see his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my  _ girlfriend _ ,” Simon muttered, but his cheeks flooded with color and heat.

“ _ Sure _ . Sure she isn’t.” Piper laughed.

* * *

“Please don’t talk to me. Just give me the Med-X and Stimpacks, and  _ only _ the Med-X and Stimpacks.” Stitches stared at Brownstone with an exasperated expression, having just been regaled with the tale of how he had acquired ‘Cuddles,’ the Yao Guai napping in the middle of the room.

“Aww, but just look’t ‘em!” Brownstone gestured with both arms pointed towards the irradiated bear, “‘Fuzzy wuzzy was a bear, fuzzy wuzzy had no hair…’ the prophecy foretold of his arrival!”

“Christ.” The woman ran a hand over her scarred features. “Look, Moth’s just about back on her feet. I just want to do my job. And my job means I need medical supplies. Not  _ chems _ . And not bedtime stories.”

“You want her back on her feet?” Brownstone pulled a red inhaler from a display case, “Jet Fuel. I’ll throw some in for free with the-”

“ _ Fine _ . Whatever. Just hurry it up.” Stitches rolled her eyes. “You do this shit every time…”

“Only for the cute ones.” The cook winked as he threw an assortment of chems and addictol into the box of medical supplies, “Don’t let your feathered friend have any though. He’s on the blacklist.”

“Believe me, I know, and I won’t.” Stitches began tapping her foot impatiently. “We’re all under strict orders. And I keep this all locked up tight.”

“Fuckin’ word, sista.” Brownstone grinned, “Aight, y’all are still covered under the Incident Compensation Program, so I’ll bill the boss for this shit, as per the normie.”

“Great,” Stitches deadpanned, holding out her hand.

“Do you have a rewards card?” Brownstone asked, “If you sign up, every purchase-”

“No, I don’t. Can I please have my shit?”

“One last question,” The chem cook leaned over the counter, resting his chin on his fist, “You wanna grab dinner and drinks tonight?”

Stitches sighed, still holding out her hand expectantly. “I’ll be at Cappy’s at seven. Don’t be late.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Brownstone finally granted the package to the Harbinger’s medic, “Catcha later.”

“Yeah, ciao, or whatever.” The blond woman turned on her heel sharply and headed out of the clinic without another word or glance back.

Once back at base, Stitches headed into her own makeshift clinic, which was really nothing more than a fairly sturdy table, a pair of mismatched chairs, and a safe in the corner. The medic spun the dial quickly, and tucked the bag of supplies away, then pulled out a stimpack and the Jet Fuel.

“Everything go smoothly this time?” Ellison asked from the doorway, gas mask hanging around his neck.

“Surprisingly, yes.” Stitches locked the safe quickly. “And I got some more stims this time, in case Doc breaks Fontayne’s jaw... again.”

Ellison laughed. “Yeah, he’s headstrong. Banshee will get him in line.”

Stitches got back to her feet and faced her brother, tossing him the Jet Fuel. “We got a freebie. Keep Witch off it, but you can do whatever you want with it.”

“I’m telling you, Brownstone’s got eyes for you,” Ellison remarked, turning the inhaler over in his hands thoughtfully.

“I know. We’re going to dinner.”

“…But you hate him.”

“No I don’t. He infuriates me, he’s insufferable, and he’s the human embodiment of a migraine.”

“…But you don’t hate him.” Ellison stared at her, baffled.

“He’s funny, and he can carry a conversation without me having to make pointless small talk. Anyways, I have to get Moth in order.” Stitches pushed past Ellison with a roll of her eyes.

“I will never understand why you were Mom’s favorite,” Ellison muttered as his sister headed past him.

* * *

“Ah yes, that Goodneighbor charm.” Simon deadpanned as they entered the aforementioned settlement. Once again, they entered as a drunken brawl raged on, passing from the front steps of the Third Rail and disappearing into an alleyway. “Never gets old.”

“You don’t think it’s homey?” Rhiannon teased, leading the way down into the old subway station.

“I seem to recall you being beyond horrified when we first stepped foot in here.” Simon gave Rhiannon a light shove.

“Alright, settle down,” Valentine rolled his eyes, “I’m going to check in with Dr. Amari, you two can come when you’re ready.”

“Sounds good.” Simon nodded.

“See you soon, Nick.” Rhiannon gave the Synth a wave as they parted ways. Heading into the Third Rail, it was much less crowded than last time, but Rhiannon headed for the lounge immediately.

“V.I.P. stands for ‘Very Important People.’ You wanna be a VIP, you gotta pay up. I don’t make the rules, just enforce them.” Lilith was in the doorway she’d inhabited when they’d first met her, her brutal-looking bat holding back a pair of men. “Forty caps ain’t bad.”

“Forty… c’mon, let’s-” The leader of the pair turned around, his face contorting with rage when he spotted Rhiannon and Simon approach, “You!”

“Oh fuck, not him again,” Simon sighed as he recognized Wolfgang, “Didn’t I kill you?”

“Didn’t fuckin’ take,” Wolfgang snarled, drawing a stubby snubnosed .44 magnum.

“That’s cute,” Rhiannon pulled out Kellogg’s magnum, “Mine’s bigger.”

“I think y’all should get your drinks and head on out,” Lily added, her bat prodding Wolfgang’s shadow hard in the middle of his back.

Wolfgang turned around to glare at Lily, then back to Simon and Rhiannon, “Watch yourself walking around here. ‘Accidents’ happen.”

“They sure do, darlin’. Good thing you’re in my city, and I can give you fair warning when it looks like one is about to occur. Like right now.”

Without another word, Wolfgang stomped off towards the bar, casting hateful glances back at the group as his partner downed bottles of vodka. Setting her bat back down, Lily turned to the trio with a wide grin.

“Well, with that out of the way, where’s my boy?”

“Hey there, Lily,” Simon smiled back, stepping forward.

“Not you.” Lily knelt down as Dogmeat excitedly rushed over to her, his tail wagging so hard his entire body wiggled. “There he is!”

Rhiannon burst into laughter as Simon stood with outstretched arms. Lilith, meanwhile, was much more concerned with giving Dogmeat scratches and letting him lick her face and arms happily.

“ _ Ouch _ ,” The mechanic deadpanned. After a few moments of rubbing the German Shepherd’s belly, Lilith slipped him a bit of dried squirrel, and then got back to her feet.

“Okay,  _ now _ it’s your turn, sugar.” Lily pulled Simon into a tight hug, kissing his cheek. “How’ve you been?”

“Well, I ran into a wrecked caravan by Wattz Consumer Electronics, and met a new robot friend… so, Percy has a girlfriend now.” Simon hugged the mercenary back, “Speaking of, Percy’s gotten some upgrades recently.”

“Damn. I’ll have to make a trip to Sanctuary with y’all and say hello.” Lily gave Simon another squeeze, then stepped back. “Come on. MacCready’s waiting for us.”

“How is the asshole, anyway?” Simon asked.

“Not hard of hearing yet, smartass.” MacCready called from his lounge chair, “C’mon in; I was wondering when you guys would get here.”

“Well, we had to stop by Diamond City and grab Nick,” Rhiannon explained, heading into the private room.

“Oh… right…  _ today  _ we were supposed to meet in Diamond City! Shhhhoot.” MacCready berated himself.

“To be fair, neither of us remembered,” Lilith assured him with a shrug.

“Where’s Cait?” Simon looked around the room, empty save for the four humans and dog.

“Mostly working for Hancock these days.” MacCready shrugged, “Hancock pays well, in caps and chems, so it’s a perfect setup for her.”

“Honestly, if I wasn’t with Cready, and personally invested in this shit now, I’d probably have taken up the job offer myself,” Lily admitted. “It’s a real sweet deal.”

“Just… keep an eye on her,” Rhiannon’s features softened, “I think she has a  _ really _ serious chem problem.”

“Welcome to Goodneighbor,” MacCready scoffed. “Half the people here do, too.”

“Hell, look at our mayor,” Lily agreed.

“Anyway, what brings you to Goodneighbor? Missed us?” MacCready asked.

“Well, yes,” Rhiannon admitted, glancing towards Simon. “But Valentine thinks he has a way for us to get answers from Kellogg.”

“From the blood and shit stain you left on the floor in Hagen?” Lilith raised an eyebrow.

“From the little bit of brain and circuits we pulled out of his head way back when,” Simon answered.

“He says there’s a woman named Dr. Amari who can help us.” Rhiannon pulled the chip from her pocket.

“Oh! Dr. Amari’s  _ great _ !” Lily smiled. “A bit brisk, but she’s a softie.”

“You… know her?” Simon gave a curious look to Lilith, “How? You visit the Memory Den often?”

“I mean, I gave it a looksie. I just get to talking with people, you know? It’s good to know lots of different kinds of folks.”

“We should get going.” MacCready asked, standing up from his seat, “Shouldn’t keep Valentine and the doctor waiting.”

* * *

At the soft knock on the door to the bedroom office, Moira and Witch looked up from the papers they’d been looking over. After a moment, the Banshee shuffled their files into a fairly neat stack.

“Come in,” she called.

The door slowly creaked open, and Scarlett’s head poked through, “Hi.”

“Hello, Scarlett,” Moira replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Come in, make yourself comfortable.”

The Queen of Hearts shyly shuffled into the room, finding a seat in a comfortable red lounge chair. “…Hey Witch, do you mind if I speak to Moira alone?”

Witch raised an eyebrow, but as he opened his mouth to respond, Moira set a hand on his arm.

“Leave. We can finish this later,” she said coolly.

“You’re the boss,” Witch muttered, heading out and shutting the door in his wake.

“So, Scarlett. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“I’ve been thinking about our… talk last month. About… the Overboss.” Scarlett spoke slowly, as if she had rehearsed her words in her head for hours on end.

“Alright.” Moira nodded, kicking her feet up onto her desk. “What have you been thinking?”

“I’m not in love with him,” Scarlett began, a note of conviction in her voice. “I like the attention. I still  _ want _ him. I’m still going to… you know… But I don’t  _ love _ him.”

Moira blinked, then nodded once more. “Well, that  _ is _ a revelation. I’m proud of you.”

Scarlett stood a little taller. “And… you have my permission. To… to play whatever games you want to play.”

The Banshee’s eyes widened slightly. She looked... conflicted, but at last nodded. “Thank you. Should you change your mind, let me know.”

Before either woman could say more, there was another sharp knock. The door cracked open, Witch and Fontayne both sticking in their heads.

“Banshee, Queenie, you gotta come see this shit,” Fontayne said, a little breathlessly. Moira got to her feet quickly and hurried to the door.

“What? What’s happening?”

“The Overboss is- fuck, just- come and see.” Fontayne took off back outside; most of the other Harbingers had also exited to crowd the street and see what was going on. Scarlett and Moira exchanged a look, before they and Witch also hurried outside.

From outside their hideout, they could see across the pond that the Disciples had emerged to see the commotion, and the Pack and Operators were competing for space at the far side of the courtyard. Caldwell stood on the balcony of the Fizztop Grille, holding what looked to be a glowing ghoul in a suit by the throat.

“The fuck is that thing?” Witch muttered, squinting up at the creature.

“That’s… the ghoul from Kiddie Kingdom!” Scarlett gasped, “Does that mean…?”

The glowing one attempted to struggle as Caldwell plunged his knife into its neck, dragging the blade downward into his chest. Pulling out the blade, the Overboss cast the ghoul down into the rusted, bloodsoaked spikes at the foot of the lift, impaling the ghoul. Reaching his hand back, Goliath placed an almost pill-shaped radio microphone into the Overboss’s hand.

“Raiders of Nuka World,” Caldwell spoke into the microphone, his voice echoing through the loudspeakers, “With the death of this ghoul, Kiddie Kingdom has finally been taken!”

The audience chanted and cheered, the cacophonous choir echoing from all over Nuka World. The Harbingers remained silent and still, given no cue from their leaders to celebrate, but Moira, for her part, set a hand on Scarlett’s shoulder and gently squeezed.

“During the month-long process of clearing the park of ferals, I have debated who to grant ownership of Kiddie Kingdom,” Caldwell continued after the noise died down enough for him to speak again, “And I have decided, effective immediately, that the Court of Murder shall take control of Kiddie Kingdom.”

At this, Moira and Witch began a round of applause that spread through the rest of the Harbingers now, and was picked up by some of the other gangs. Eventually, the raiders of Nuka World begun to cheer, some more begrudgingly than others.

“Congratulations,” Moira said softly to Scarlett, “You’ve earned your prize at last.”

Scarlett, tears in her eyes, began to squeal excitedly, turning around and wrapping Moira in a tight embrace. “Finally! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!”

Moira tensed under the embrace, glancing about at the other gangs and hoping no one could see her over her taller raiders. Patting Scarlett’s back, she gently extracted herself from the younger woman. “Alright, go and celebrate with your Court, Queen.”

“You’re in my Court now. All of you.” Scarlett smiled brightly at Moira, “If you ever need shelter or housing, we will carve a place for you in our kingdom.”

“I… I appreciate that,” Moira replied, with a surprised blink. So often in her life, she’d have to fight literally tooth and nail for every scrap of food or shelter. Even their set up here at Nuka World was a part of a larger deal, and required serving as an ally and asset to Caldwell. To have Scarlett offer so freely, was… utterly alien.

“I take care of my own.” Scarlett hesitated for a moment before pressing her lips against Moira’s cheek, “I have to move my things, and my people.”

“If you need us, we can have the Mutants help haul the heavier things,” Moira offered, reciprocating with a kiss to Scarlett’s forehead.

“Of course, I’ll let you know if I need anything.” Scarlett nodded before vanishing into the crowd.

Moira watched her leave, then turned her gaze back up to the Overboss, still looming triumphantly over his domain.

“Next, we shall move upon the power plant, to restore power to Nuka World. And then… we prepare for war!” Caldwell announced, to raucous applause, “Our agents have informed me that a powerful new enemy has taken root in the Commonwealth, the Brotherhood of Steel. This Brotherhood commands Vertibirds and a mighty airship, and boasts hundreds of soldiers in Power Armor… but they shall fall against our combined might!”

“He’s talking about all out war,” a Harbinger near Moira murmured to his companion. The Banshee’s eyes narrowed slightly. So he was. And she had not signed on for a war.

“This is the year where hope fails you! The test subjects run the experiments, and the bastard you know is the hero you hate… But cohesion is possible if we strive!” Caldwell continued, “There's no reason, there's no lesson, no time like the present! Tell me right now: What have you got to lose?  _ What have you got to lose _ … except your soul? Who's with us?”

With this final question, all of Nuka World burst into a roaring chant, cheering the name of their Overboss. His fist raised in the air, Caldwell remained on the platform for a few more moments, soaking in the adulation of his subordinates, before stepping back into the Fizztop Grille.

Below, the Omens looked to their Banshee, waiting for her to begin their cheer and let them join and lead their people in the celebration. She merely turned and went back into her headquarters, leaving the Harbingers standing in silent defiance.

* * *

Valentine took a final drag from the dwindling cigarette, letting the smoke wind its way out of his jaw and the holes in his synthetic skin, before dropping the butt to the ground and grinding it into the dirt with his shoe. As he did, a bark alerted him to the arrival of the humans and their canine.

“Lilith, MacCready, how’ve you been?” The detective nodded to the pair of mercenaries, “Keeping out of trouble, I hope?”

“Hell no,” Lilith scoffed. “You of all people know how well getting into trouble pays.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Valentine rolled his eyes, “C’mon, let’s go see Dr. Amari.”

The Synth led the party into the building. After passing through some kind of entry hallway, they stepped into a room lined with lounge chairs, loveseats, and strange pods with luxury seating inside.

“Well, well… Mr. Valentine,” A blonde woman in a feathered red dress lounged seductively across a couch in the middle of the room, “I thought you’d forgotten about little ole’ me.”

“May have walked out of the den, Irma, but I’d never walk out on you,” Valentine responded with a smirk.

“Hmm,” The woman hummed, eyeing the group, “Amari’s downstairs, you big flirt.”

Valentine tipped his hat and motioned for the others to follow him towards the back.

“I just threw up in my mouth a little bit,” MacCready muttered as they exited the room.

“Same,” Simon agreed, “No offense to Nick, but I cannot imagine someone wanting  _ any  _ of that inside of them. Like… there’s sharp metal bits and some of the ‘skin’ is coming off, and-”

“Sometimes it’s about the personality, rather than a pretty face,” Lilith interrupted. “Also he’s like, five feet in front of us so keep your damn voices down.”

Rhiannon couldn’t help but giggle at Lilith’s response and the way both Simon and MacCready pulled their hats down over their faces a little bit in shame. Down some stairs and through a door, the party entered a bright room with a pair of memory loungers and some medical supplies.

“Dr. Amari?” Nick called as they stepped past the threshold of the doorframe.

“Yes?” The doctor turned around. Seeing the group, her expression hardened. “Valentine. Lilith. And... others. I take it this isn’t a social call. What’s this all about?”

“Dr. Amari!” Lilith greeted, a mischievous grin on her face. “It’s time for you to reverse death itself!”

“What?”

Valentine sighed heavily, “I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but she’s not wrong. We need a deep dig, Amari, but it’s not gonna be easy. The perp, Kellogg, is already cold on the floor.”

“Are you all mad?!” Dr. Amari gasped, “Aside from the fact that you’re asking me to defile a corpse, you do realize that memory simulators need intact,  _ living _ brains to function?!”

“Technically, the corpse was defiled already,” Lilith specified, tapping her bat.

“Please, Dr. Amari,” Rhiannon spoke up, “There has to be some way to make this work.”

“This dead brain’s got inside knowledge on the Institute,” Simon added, “You  _ need _ this information, and so do we.”

“Fine,” Amari sighed, “I’ll take a look… but no guarantees. Do you… have it with you?”

“How much… of the brain do you need?” Rhiannon asked after a beat.

“That is not an encouraging question.” The doctor’s face fell into a frown, “I suppose I’ll have to make do with… whatever you can find.”

“Well…” Rhiannon reached into her pocket and pulled out the strange device. “This was in his head. It’s… something… I hope.”

“What’s this? This isn’t a brain! This is… wait…” Amari examined the object she was given, “That’s the hippocampus! And this… thing… attached to it… a neural interface?”

“I thought those circuits looked awfully familiar,” Nick grumbled, sounding none too pleased with the revelation.

“I’m not surprised.” Amari continued to turned it over in her hands. “From what I’ve seen, all Institute technology has a similar architecture.”

“Nick’s an older model Synth… is he compatible?” Simon asked, looking between the device and the detective.

“That’s  _ exactly  _ what I was thinking.” Amari responded, “If we’re lucky, it should hook right in. But even  _ if  _ this works, Mr. Valentine would be taking on a tremendous amount of risk. We’re talking about wiring something to his brain.”

“Don’t worry about me, Amari,” Valentine volunteered immediately, “Let’s do it.”

“I… appreciate this, Nick.” Rhiannon smiled softly at the Synth.

“You can thank me when we’ve found your son,” Valentine gave a small smile back, “Alright, let’s do this.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. Valentine,” Amari said, wheeling over a desk chair. “Just sit down.”

“If I start cackling like a grizzled old mercenary, pull me out, okay?” Valentine joked dryly, settling into the chair for Amari. He removed his hat, giving her better access to the circuits in his own head. Lily shuffled around the side of the room to try and get a better look at the process.

“I need you to keep talking to me, Mr. Valentine,” Amari advised as she began to install the stolen hippocampus into the Synth’s head. “Any slight change in your cognitive functions could be dire. Are you... feeling any different?”

“There’s a lot of flashes,” Nick said, wincing. “Static. I... I can’t make sense of any of it, doc.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Amari frowned as she stepped back from Nick. “The mnemonic impressions are encoded.”

“And that means...?” MacCready prompted.

“It means the Institute had one last fail safe,” the doctor explained. “There’s a lock on the memories in the implant.”

“How do you lock memories?” Rhiannon asked, trying not to look outwardly discouraged.

“The implant is encoding all the mnemonic activity in the hippocampus. Think of it like... computer encryption. And we don’t have the password.”

Amari began to pace as she continued, thoughtfully, “Let’s see... a single mind wouldn’t be able to crack it, but... what if we used two? We load one of you and Mr. Valentine into the memory lounges. Run your cognitive functions in parallel. He’ll act as a host, while your consciousness dives through whatever memories we can find.”

“I’ll do it,” Rhiannon volunteered, before any of the others could. “This is to find  _ my _ son.”

“Any idea what she might see in there?” Simon asked worriedly.

“I have no clue.” Amari shook her head, as Valentine got back to his feet. “But considering we only have a single piece of the medial temporal lobe, and not the whole brain, I doubt it’ll be... cohesive.”

“Nick and Rhiannon are gonna share a mind? She’s not gonna see him in any… compromising positions, is she?” MacCready asked with a smirk.

“If a smart mouth was all it took to solve problems, we’d’ve found her son by now.” Nick glared over at the mercenary. MacCready held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Uhh…  _ no _ .” Amari blinked, as if trying to hold back some form of sarcastic rebuttal, “The only memories she’ll have access to are the ones in the implant.”

“So do we just… sit in the pods?” Rhiannon asked.

“Precisely.” Amari nodded, heading to a control panel.

“See you on the other side,” Nick tipped his hat and took a seat in one of the two memory loungers.

Rhiannon took a deep breath and settled into the other. The glass dome sealed over her, a screen displaying an old ‘Please Stand By’ message taking up most of her vision. Around it, however, she could see Simon, Lilith, MacCready and Dogmeat all watching her and Nick with various expressions of worry and curiosity.

“Initiating brain-wave migration between the transplant and the host,” Amari announced. After a beat, she spoke again, excitedly, “Mnemonic activity coming from the transplant! It’s degenerated, but it’s there!”

Simon looked on the verge of an anxiety attack, and Rhiannon watched through the glass as Lily took his hand and gave a gentle squeeze.

“We’re going to load you into the strongest memories we can find. They might not be... stable. Just hold on.”

After another moment, Rhiannon felt a sharp jolt of electricity at the base of her skull. She felt like she was sinking, and yet… floating. In seconds, her vision went white, and she could no longer feel her body, as everything faded away.

* * *

The inner council gathered once again. The mood was fairly celebratory, while some were disappointed they were not granted the final park, the news of their ever-approaching invasion of the Commonwealth was more than enough to heighten the excitement of all the gangs. Caldwell had even seen fit to share his cigars with any who would take one.

“So,” The Overboss started, lighting his cigar and the cigar of his Super Mutant bodyguard, “After we get the power online, I will be speaking with Shank regarding our invasion of the Commonwealth. I’m told there’s a settlement, Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, that’s fairly close to the Nuka World Transit Center, where the monorail leads. That will likely be one of our first conquests. But before we get to that… there are important matters to discuss-”

“Matters like this Brotherhood of Steel?” The Banshee interrupted sharply.

“Yes.” Caldwell turned to glare at the Banshee, “Do you have a  _ problem _ ?”

“As a matter of fact, I  _ do _ .” Her dark eyes narrowed. “You’re asking us to go to war. With trained soldiers in power armor.  _ We _ are not soldiers. And we did not sign up for a war.”

“Do you expect me to wage war on these soldiers without proper weapons or preperation?” Caldwell laughed incredulously, “I am  _ very  _ familiar with the Brotherhood of Steel, and have been grooming members of the Doomed for the past month in infiltrating their ranks. But when tactics and sabotage will only go so far… I believe that the right guns in the right hands will tip the scales in out favor.”

“What do you mean?” Ivey asked, pulling off her helmet to get a better look at the Overboss.

“I have arranged for a meeting with a group known as the Gun Runners. Hopefully, they will have not only what we need, but the means to produce them.” Caldwell replied, “Ivey, if we get you the materials, could your people forge automatron soldiers?”

“Indeed we could…” Ivey grinned, seeing where Caldwell was taking the conversation.

“Then with robotic soldiers, we will risk our own men and women less.” Caldwell turned back towards Moira, “Do not presume that I intend to rush blindly into war with the Brotherhood. I have been planning this moment for a  _ very  _ long time. I will  _ not _ allow failure.”

“Nor will I,” Moira replied, but settled back into her seat.

“Any  _ other  _ concerns?” Caldwell looked around the table.

“Perhaps we should eliminate other competition.” Mags spoke up, “Like the Gunners, for instance.”

“Gunner Plaza is definitely a target.” The Overboss nodded to the Operator, “Are you suggesting we destroy them first?”

“Possibly.” Mags shrugged, “It depends on what the situation in the Commonwealth is like. If we will have need of a stronghold, then we should take it. If we can do without for a time… then we wait.”

“I will keep that in mind,” Caldwell responded, “Hopefully, I will come to a conclusion after the power is restored and the Gun Runners are met with. Is there anything else?”

“Who’s getting what when we go to the Commonwealth?” Mason asked.

“That will be decided later… however, I have promised the Harbingers the first pick of land.” The Overboss gestured over towards Banshee and Witch, “And I intend to keep that promise.”

Mason glared over at the Harbingers but said nothing more.

“If the two of you would like to linger and discuss those details, then do so. If there is nothing further to discuss about the upcoming plans, then you are all dismissed.” Caldwell announced.

The raiders of the Inner Council rose from their seats. Scarlett, normally one to stay behind and chat with the Harbingers, merely gave them a smile and a wave as she rushed back to her castle. Within a few minutes, the room was emptied… aside from Caldwell, Gage, Goliath, and the two Harbingers.

Moira got to her feet slowly, and stared across the table at Caldwell. “If I lose a single one of my people to this war of yours-”

“Your people are too small in number to throw at the Brotherhood.” Caldwell interrupted sternly, “Your stealth training has greatly benefitted the Doomed, and there will be other ways for your people to contribute. If your people are lost to the Brotherhood, it will most likely be because they attack us, not because I order them to fight.”

“Good.” Moira crossed her arms. “Now, about these Gunners… I would be more than happy to lend our support there.”

“Excellent.” Caldwell nodded, “Then the Harbingers shall assist the Doomed when it comes time for us to take Gunner Plaza.”

“Do you have a map of the Commonwealth?” Witch asked, interjecting. “And are there restrictions to what we can take?”

Gage turned towards an umbrella stand, retrieving and unfurling a large map across the table. Caldwell moved around the table to point out locations on the map.

“According to reports, the Minutemen have spread like a disease across the Commonwealth, with major strongholds in Sanctuary Hills, Abernathy Farm, Tenpines Bluff, Starlight Drive-In, the aforementioned Sunshine Tidings Co-Op, Hangman’s Alley, Greygarden, and Oberland Station.

“Sunshine Tidings Co-Op is a dangerous location. It’s very close to other Minuteman-aligned settlements and very close to the Transit Center. If we take it… chances are it will alert the Minutemen to our invasion, and so it must be heavily fortified as soon as it’s ours.”

The Banshee hummed thoughtfully, running her fingers across the edges of the map, and letting them brush Caldwell’s at least once. “And if I want more than one location?”

“Then you will have to wait until everyone else has at least one.” Caldwell responded, “Fairness has kept the peace thus far, and your gang is rather small. If you want a second territory, I  _ could _ grant you Hangman’s Alley, it is a small settlement, but close to Diamond-”

“I want Salem.”

“Salem?” Caldwell furrowed his brows, scanning the map, “What value could you possibly see in Salem?”

The Banshee did not answer, one finger resting on the dot that marked the old city.

“Salem is... known to us,” Witch offered, a little hesitantly. “We can fortify it well.”

“Very well.” Caldwell responded after a moment, “But understand we will not only have to cross the Commonwealth, but cut through Minuteman  _ and _ Brotherhood territory to claim this land. You had best be prepared for the consequences of such.”

“It will be mine,” Moira said, flatly.

“Understand that it is on the other side of the Commonwealth. We must prioritize what is close to Nuka World first. But once we take what’s near… and once we fortify our position…  _ then _ we may go for Salem.”

“I understand. But when we reach the town, I refuse to let anyone else claim it. In the meantime, I will take what is offered closer to home.” Finally, the Banshee withdrew her hand from the map, and looked up towards Caldwell.

Caldwell paused to consider, “Hangman’s Alley is a narrow alleyway close to Diamond City. It is small, but can be well-fortified. I believe your Harbingers can make use of that land.”

“Good. We’ll have it, for the meantime.”

“Then prepare your people to take it.” Caldwell stepped back from the map, “After power is restored, and after I meet with the Gun Runners, we’ll begin our push into the Commonwealth.”

“That soon?” Moira raised an eyebrow. “Your  _ careful _ preparations will be done so readily?”

“Perhaps a deadline will encourage haste on  _ your _ part.” Caldwell responded.

“We’ll be prepared.” The Banshee nodded. “But I hope you haven’t forgotten your other promise to me and mine.”

“There’s a Red Rocket with our name on it,” Witch agreed, smirking and leaning his elbows on the table. “It’s been getting tough to keep the Mutants indoors.”

“When the power has been restored, I will  _ personally  _ see to its restoration. Will that be all, then?” The Overboss asked.

“Unless you have any further need of me,” Moira replied with the hint of a smirk.

After a moment of examining her face, Caldwell responded, “I’ll seek you out if I do.”

“You know where to find me.” Moira headed towards the lift. “Come along, Witch.”

The feather adorned man caught Gage’s eye for a moment, offering a smile. After a beat of holding Gage’s stare, Witch fell into step with Moira and the pair descended.

After they had left, Goliath lightly slapped Caldwell’s back, “I saw you.”

“Everyone did; they have eyes,” The Overboss responded sarcastically.

“I saw how her fingers brushed against yours. I saw how you looked at each other.”

“Jesus, this again?” Gage rolled his eye, “Just because she isn’t bringing a Super Mutant to meetings these days doesn’t mean she wants to jump his bones.”

“Wait, watch, and see,” Goliath ominously commanded before lumbering away. “They see each other the way you and the feathered one see each other.”

“I liked him better when he  _ didn’t _ talk,” Gage muttered.

* * *

“Fascinating.” Yet the way Stitches said it made it sound as though Brownstone was being anything but. Her chin rested on her hand, and the medic took another drink from her vodka.

“Isn’t it? And people huff Jet like it’s nobody’s business!” Brownstone laughed as he kicked his feet up on the table and poured a dirty wastelander into his mouth, “Oh, oh, oh, it’s ending… watch this, watch their fuckin’ faces!”

_ “I don’t want to set the world on fire… I just want to start a flame in your heart!” _

As the Ink Spots faded out, quiet settled over Cappy’s Cafe. The other occupants stared at each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

_ “Hey everybody, did the news get around about a guy named Butcher Pete?!” _

The raiders immediately burst into furious cries as the first part of the Butcher Pete duology begun to play for the fourth time that evening. Stitches spluttered her drink, and let out a sudden peal of laughter. Her hand clapped to her mouth immediately after, and her eyes widened in mortification.

“Ha! She laughs!” Brownstone pointed and smiled over at Stitches.

“No, I just-” the medic tried to save face, in utter vain. She wiped the vodka from her chin, falling into silence and avoiding looking at Brownstone.

Brownstone set his chin on his fist, staring and smirking at Stitches.

“Oh, fuck off,” she grumbled, knocking back the rest of her glass.

* * *

“Can you hear me?”

Rhiannon’s vision had gone dark then coalesced into a blurry blue scape. After a moment, she recognized pathways of what looked like… neurons? Synapses sparked and rippled along and out in every direction. After a moment of orienting herself, Rhiannon nodded.

“Good. The simulation seems to be working, although the memories are quite fragmentary.” Dr. Amari’s voice floated through the void.

“Holy shit,” Simon’s voice came through as well, just as distant and eerily disembodied. “Is that what she’s seeing?”

“Yes. This is a visual of the simulation she is experiencing,” Amari confirmed, before addressing Rhiannon once more. “I’ll step you through the intact memories, and hope we find one that gives us a clue to the Institute’s location.”

As Rhiannon looked around, a path of neurons suddenly unfolded in one direction. At the end of it, she could see the vague shapes of what looked like… a bedroom?

“There… the earliest intact memory I could find.”

Rhiannon began to move, though she found that she was... floating? Her legs did not move, but she ventured forward anyways. As she reached the end of the pathway, she found herself, indeed, in what looked like a child’s bedroom.

“And that makes it official, folks… the final vote count for-”

“Turn down the goddamn radio, I’m trying to sleep!”

“-Fifty five percent in favor of joining the New California Republic.”

A little boy sat cross-legged on his bed, several Grognak comic books spread out before him. On a chair beside him, his mother read her book, not even flinching as her husband’s drunken threats interrupted the radio broadcast they listened to.

“All five states have now signed on, which means as of this moment, we are all citizens of the New California Republic. I’m sure that’s gonna take some getting used to for a lot of people.”

“Hmph. What a  _ joke _ .” The mother scoffed.

“What’s it  _ mean _ , mom?” The little boy asked, looking up from his comic book. Rhiannon’s eyes widened as she realized this boy, so young and wide-eyed, was Kellogg.

“Nothing, Connie.” She sighed,  “People like to talk and hope someone else is going to keep them safe.”

“Teacher at school said the NCR would bring back the good old days, like before the war.” The boy said hesitantly.

“Don’t you listen to that twaddle!” The mother chastised her son, “I’m going to stop sending you if  _ that’s _ what they’re teaching you!”

“I’m going out…” The rough drunken voice growled out from just beyond the door, “Where the  _ fuck  _ are my boots?!”

“Listen to me, Connie… take this, you’re old enough.” The woman brandished a gun; a .44 magnum, to be exact. That same awful gun that Kellogg would later wield to murder and kidnap. Rhiannon felt her breathing hitch.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” MacCready whispered, his voice barely reaching her.

“You’re the man of the family now,” Kellogg’s mother continued, “It’s your job to protect us. Your father’s useless, but you won’t turn out like  _ him _ . You’re a  _ good  _ boy. And all that on the radio… all useless talk. The only thing that will protect you in this world is that gun in your hands. You need to learn to use it if you’re going to survive.”

The little boy turned the gun over in his hands, examining it carefully. The weight, the sights, the grip, the barrel, the bullets in the chamber…

“I will, mom. I promise. I won’t let you down.”

“You’ve always been my good boy…”

“That doesn’t seem to be what we’re looking for.” Dr. Amari’s voice emerged as the scene faded into nothingness, “There’s another intact memory close to you in temporal sequence…”

“I think she wanted him to kill his father,” Simon mused to the others, “I wonder if he did…”

“Jesus,” Lilith muttered, and Rhiannon could hear the heavy disgust in her voice. Before she could dwell on it, another pathway unfurled, leading out to another floating tableau.

Rhiannon followed, and stepped into some kind of apartment building… through the window… the Golden Gate Bridge. Kellogg had stayed in California then.

Speak of the devil… there he was; hacking up chunks of meat to throw into a stew. Down the counter, a young woman scrubbed at the dishes in the sink. At the other side of the room, a crib. Rhiannon felt her heart skip, her breath catch. A  _ crib? _

Looking to Kellogg and the woman, it was clear this was years ago. So he had been a father? He had been a  _ father  _ and he  _ still  _ tore her family to shreds? He  _ still _ took her son and killed her husband for trying to protect Shaun? Rhiannon stared, almost numbly, between the mercenary and the crib.

“It’s going to be fine… you’ll see.” Kellogg said, looking over at the woman at the sink.

“But we don’t know anybody here,” The woman scrubbed harder as her voice took an anxious tone, “And now with the baby…”

“Come on, Sarah, you’ve gotta give it a chance.” Kellogg walked over to his wife, “I’ve finally got steady work with a good outfit. Nothing like that in the NCR these days.”

“I know, I’m not saying this was a  _ mistake _ , I’m just…” Sarah held a hand to her head as she walked to the nearby table, sitting down in a plastic chair, “Are you  _ sure  _ these guys know what they’re doing? They seem kind of…  _ green _ .”

“I know,” Kellogg rolled his eyes at the mention of his coworkers, “But that’s where  _ I  _ come in. Just wait… in a few years, I’ll be running my own crew, as soon as I make the connections I need. Then I can give you anything you want, and little Mary too.”

“I never worried about you before,” Sarah turned her head and sighed, “Must be my mama instincts kicking in… who knew I had  _ those _ , huh?”

Kellogg reached down to take Sarah’s hand, and Rhiannon’s stomach turned, “Come on… you’re great with her! And you don’t need to worry about me… most of it’s just… running security for the Shi. A lot of standing around and looking tough.”

“Well, the picked just the right person for that job.” A smirk tugged at the corner of Sarah’s mouth.

“Listen… it’s gonna be great here,” Kellogg said, pulling out the .44 magnum his mother had given him, upgraded and modified, closer to the gun in Rhiannon’s possession, “See this?  _ This _ is what’s gonna keep you and Mary safe. I  _ promise _ .”

“I know, Connie,” Sarah replied as Kellogg holstered his gun, “I’m sure we’re going to be really happy here.”

“We are… you’ll see.” Kellogg smiled. There was a spark of something genuinely tender in his gaze. What had happened, Rhiannon wondered, to extinguish that?

Suddenly, baby Mary begun to cry. Sarah started to rise from her seat, but Kellogg put a hand on her shoulder as he passed behind her, headed for the crib.

“No, it’s okay. I got her.” The memory faded into silence and empty space. Rhiannon let out her breath.

“Let’s keep looking,” Amari sighed as the scene dissipated, “I’ll connect you to the next memory.”

At the end of the next pathway was a narrow, dimly lit utility tunnel, like the ones Rhiannon and her companions had traversed and fought raiders in time and time again. Kellogg stormed down the hall. Armored in leathers and makeshift metal armor, the mercenary brandished a powerful assault rifle as a voice taunted him.

“How did you  _ think _ this was going to end, Kellogg?” The voice laughed cruelly, “You think you could fuck with us, and we wouldn’t fuck with you?! Just so you know… they died like  _ dogs _ , and you weren’t there to help them…”

At the end of the hallway, Kellogg let out an enraged battlecry and kicked the door open, firing upon the occupants of the room, as he vanished.

“I’ve found another memory to try, whenever you’re ready.” Amari said after a moment of hesitation. Rhiannon swallowed hard. Maybe that’s what had become of Sarah and Mary. She didn’t want to dwell on it, or here, and rushed along the next neuron line.

Now the scene had shifted to some backwater bar. Kellogg sat at a table and drank alone, until a pair of wastelanders approached.

“Mind if we… sit down?”

“Suit yourself.”

The Kellogg that responded was quite different from the man Rhiannon had watched interact with his wife and child. Now he was closer to the man she’d known him to be… a tired, cold individual.

“So… uhh… I hear you’ll take care of other people’s…  _ problems _ …” One of the wastelanders said, leaning over the table a little, “Is that right?”

“If you pay me.” Kellogg responded.

“Oh, we’ll pay you…” The other wastelander assured him with a wicked grin.

“And you’ll do this all by yourself?” The first asked.

“That’s right.”

“We pay you when the job’s done. That okay?”

“If that’s the way you wanna do it,” Kellogg shrugged, taking a long drink from his cup, “So… who do you want dead?”

“Well, it’s like this…” The main speaker started spilling the details, “There’s this family… lives down the creek a ways…” And the scene vanished.

“We seem to be getting closer.” Dr. Amari’s voice took a hopeful turn, “Try this next one.”

“We’d better be getting closer,” MacCready muttered. “I’m not here for this jerk’s sob story.”

Rhiannon headed forward, but stopped dead at the edge of the next memory.

“Oh, shit,” came Lily and Simon’s voices above her, in unison.

“Mr. Kellogg, I’m glad you’ve decided to meet with me.”

In a nondescript Pre-War plant, Kellogg stood before a woman behind a table. Three Gen-1 Synths stood around the room, eyes on the mercenary wearing leather and metal armor, casually smoking a cigarette.

“So… You’re with the Institute.” Kellogg scoffed, looking and sounding a hell of a lot more like he did when he’d taken her baby. It sent a prickle up Rhiannon’s spine. “I wanted to see for myself if you really existed.”

“We do. As you can see,” The woman responded, a sarcastic undertone hidden deep within her voice.

“What do you want?” Kellogg asked, seeming very disinterested in the situation.

“It’s come to my attention that you’ve been rather  _ disruptive _ of our operations lately. This must stop.” The woman answered.

“I do what people pay me to do.” Kellogg shrugged, “If that’s a problem for you, I can see only one way out.”

“And what’s that, Mr. Kellogg?”

“If I’m working for you, then there’s no more problem.” Kellogg smirked as he took a drag from his cigarette, “From what I hear, you can afford me.”

“I don’t think you fully understand the situation you’re in.” The woman raised her eyebrows, her voice turning incredulous.

“I think I do.”

“Very well,” The woman sighed, “B7-48, initiate.”

The Synths snapped into action, raising their guns. Kellogg moved faster, grabbing the nearest Synth to use as a shield as he fired a shot into each of the other Synths, the bullet ripping their metallic bodies apart. Kicking the knee of the final Synth, Kellogg locked eyes with the Institute agent as he executed the robot.

“Systems… off… line…” The Synth’s garbled mechanical deadpan spat out before it deactivated.

“Hmm. Impressive.” The woman nodded, “We may have something to talk about after all.”

“Getting warmer…” Dr. Amari spoke up as the simulation disappeared, “One of these has  _ got _ to have something!”

Rhiannon nodded, and followed the neurons as they unfolded before her.

“Manual override initiated. Cryogenic stasis: suspended.”

_ Oh no.  _ She halted, and the knot that had been forming in her stomach twisted. Not this...

“Vault computers are still working,” A male scientist dressed in a hazmat suit commented as he typed into a console, “Checking through the logs… hopefully it’s all-”

“Just… find it.” Kellogg said impatiently.

“Oh, God,” Lily’s voice echoed. “Is this-”

“Oh, fuck.” Simon gasped.

“Pod C-6, down the hall, near the end.” The scientist pointed in the indicated direction.

Kellogg pulled his .44 out of its holster as he walked with the female scientist down the hall.

“This is the one. Here.” The woman said, pointing to a pod with a man and baby inside.

“Open it.” Kellogg ordered.

The scientist pressed a button on the panel, and the pod door lifted. A moment later, the occupants came to life, the baby wailing and the man spewing profanities.

“Fuckin’ Vault-Tec, Chinese motherfuck…” The moustached man cursed violently as he held onto the babe, “Who the fuck are you? You’re not with Vault-Tec! What the fuck is going on?!”

“Stay calm sir. Everything is going to be fine.” Kellogg said, holding an arm out to placate the Vault dweller.

“Let me hold your baby, sir. Give you a moment to breathe.” The woman in the hazmat suit said, reaching for the baby.

“No. I don’t trust you… where the fuck is my wife? What the fuck is going on?” The Vault dweller was still woozy from the stasis, delirious even, but kept a tight grip on his son. Rhiannon, in this place, had no true form, but she could feel hot tears rolling down her cheeks. She knew, where ever her body rested, she was crying.

“Let the boy go. I’m only gonna tell you once.” Kellogg aimed his gun at the man’s head, behind him, the sound of someone pounding against the glass window of their pod. Turning, but for a moment, Rhiannon found herself staring into her own frightened eyes.

“Vinny!” Past-Rhiannon shouted, attempting to warn the man. Rhiannon spun back around to face her husband.

“I’m not giving you Shaun!” The male Vault dweller roared, wrestling with the scientist to keep the baby in his arms.

_ Boom! _

“No!” The woman in the pod screamed and sobbed as the lifeless man fell back into the pod and the baby fell into the hands of the scientist.

“Goddammit…” Kellogg cursed, “Get the baby out of here, let’s go.”

Turning is head towards the pod across from the primary subject’s, he could see a woman. Rhiannon, floating in the memory, watched as Kellogg leaned in close to the pod to speak to her.

“At least we still have the backup.”

“Cryogenic stasis: reinitialized.” The computerized voice announced. A broken sob escaped Rhiannon’s lips, but she could only feel it, not hear herself.

“What’s the holdup?!” Kellogg demanded, looking back at the scientist on the terminal as ice began to cover the pods again.

“I’m almost finished Kellogg, I just need to confirm… alright, we’re good.” And then it all faded, and she was coldly alone in the emptiness.

“I… uhh, I’m sorry you had to go through that again…” Amari’s voice took an apologetic tone as the horrid memory faded away. Rhiannon took a moment to gather herself, her body shaking as that day, that living nightmare, was replayed, and more than that, was displayed before her friends. After another few seconds to steady her breathing, Rhiannon stepped out onto the unfurling path.

“Uhh… in the… uhh… the… uhh… Publick, uh, Occurrences…”

Rhiannon recognized the next scene: it was Kellogg’s house! Kellogg himself sat in a chair facing the door as he cleaned and examined his gun. The radio, tuned to Diamond City Radio, played in the background. And there: sitting on the floor with a number of comic books was a boy of about ten. Dark hair, so much like her own, and dark brown eyes, so hauntingly familiar, such perfect mimics of Vincent’s eyes. It was Shaun.

“Is that… your son?” Amari’s voice drifted up, “This appears to be a very recent memory… so good news, I think?”

Rhiannon crossed the room in a daze, kneeling down and looking into the boy’s face. She wanted to reach out and take him, pull him to her chest and promise everything was okay now, that they were going home, that his mother was here and everything would be right from now on. But she had no way to do so, and so, helpless, she bore witness to this moment from the life of her son.

“Oh boy, Piper’s  _ really  _ done it this time…” Travis stammered nervously through his news report, “I mean… I’m not- I’m not, uhh, saying she’s  _ right  _ but… the mayor, you know, uhh, is… uhh, he’s gonna be  _ really  _ mad this time… I probably shouldn’t even have said anything…”

Suddenly the door opened, and Rhiannon tore her eyes away from Shaun to see the newcomer. A man in a black padded long coat and aviators stepped inside. Kellogg’s pistol was at the ready immediately, and his finger nearly pulled the trigger before he recognized the figure.

“Lily?” Simon’s voice, hushed and concerned, reached Rhiannon’s ears.

“Kellogg.” The man said flatly.

“One of these days you’re gonna get your head blown off, just barging in here like that.” Kellogg gruffly responded as he reholstered his gun.

“Minimizing my exposure to civilians is a priority-”

“Forget I said anything,” Kellogg interrupted, “So what’s the big crisis this time?”

“Lilith,” Simon said, now more intent and worried. “What is it?”

The radio in the background had switched from news to music, now playing a song Rhiannon recognized immediately…

_ "It's all over but the crying, and nobody's crying but me..." _

“New orders for you. One of our scientists has left the Institute.”

“Left as in…?”

“He’s gone rogue.” The agent finished, “Name’s Doctor Brian Virgil. We know he’s hiding somewhere in the Glowing Sea. Here’s his file.”

“Wow.” Kellogg raised an eyebrow as the agent passed him the file folder, “Some heads are gonna roll for this… capture and return, or just elimination?”

“Elimination.” The agent, as Rhiannon noticed, spoke without emotion, no matter what he said, “He was working on a highly classified program.”

“No kidding… one of the top Bioscience boys?  _ Damn _ .” Kellogg whistled, “So I guess you’re taking the kid back with you.”

“Affirmative. Your only mission is to locate and eliminate Virgil.”

“You’re taking me home to my father?” Shaun finally spoke up, looking at the men from his seat on the floor. Rhiannon felt her blood run cold.

His father? His  _ father _ ? His father was dead, killed by the very man who was looking after him now. Whoever had the  _ audacity _ to call himself Shaun’s  _ father _ was going to have her wrath to face.

“Yes. Stand next to me and hold still.” The agent said, stepping into the middle of the room. After a moment, Shaun joined the man. “X6-88 ready to relay with Shaun.”

“Hey, Rook-” MacCready was saying more, but his voice moved away from wherever Amari had been speaking to her.

“Bye, Mr. Kellogg!” Shaun waved at his kidnapper, “I hope I see you again sometime!”

Rhiannon didn’t know if she wanted to scream, vomit, cry, or all three.

Suddenly, in a burst of blue-white energy, both Shaun and the Institute agent vanished, leaving Kellogg alone with the radio on.

_ “It’s all over… but the crying…” _

“Goodbye.” Kellogg finally responded.

“Teleportation!” Dr. Amari gasped as Kellogg vanished before Rhiannon’s eyes, “Now it all makes sense… nobody’s found the entrance to the Institute because there  _ is  _ no entrance!”

Rhiannon stood, stunned and horrified and nauseated and  _ furious _ in the stillness.

“Let me pull you out of there… as soon as you’re ready,” Amari continued. The television in the room crackled suddenly to life, displaying the same ‘Stand By’ message as the pod. Taking a shaking breath, Rhiannon looked into the screen, and her vision went white again.

There was the sensation of falling, very much like the one experienced before sleep, and then another jolt of static, and the memory den filled Rhiannon’s sight once more. She blinked several times to clear the tears from her eyes, and as her vision clarified, she could see Dogmeat laying on the floor watching her. His tail began to wag as she sat up, and the glass lifted away.

On the couch in the corner, Lilith sat with her knees pulled up to her chest, and she’d buried her face in them. MacCready was speaking to her in a low tone, but the woman was unresponsive. Simon was stroking the mercenary’s hair as she shook and sobbed, but looked over to Rhiannon as she sat upright and buried her face in her hands.

“Rhiannon,” Simon slowly approached the general, kneeling beside her pod, “How are you feeling?”

“Good question,” Rhiannon breathed. Dogmeat sniffed at her hands and licked her fingers worriedly.

“Slow movements, okay?” Dr. Amari came around to Rhiannon’s other side, “I don’t know what kind of side effects this procedure might have had. No one’s ever… done this before. How do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” Rhiannon clarified, getting to her feet carefully. She looked around, seeing Nick getting up slowly too, a slightly hazy look in his gaze as he headed up the stairs. “Is Lily okay? What happened?”

“Lily… is not okay.” Simon glanced back at the mercenary, still curled into a ball, “But we’ll give her time.”

“Are you… ready to talk about what happened in there?” Dr. Amari asked hesitantly.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon said, still worriedly looking over at where MacCready was coaxing Lily to look at him. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“So… where do we even start?” Simon sighed, “We relived Kellogg’s life, the Institute uses teleportation… they’ve got a rogue scientist out in the Glowing Sea…”

“That can’t be right,” Amari turned to Simon. “No one would risk going there, not even to hide.”

“What’s the Glowing Sea?” Rhiannon asked.

“It’s where the bomb hit Boston two hundred years ago.” Simon gave a sorrowed glance to Rhiannon, “It’s… hell on Earth.”

“That’s why he’s there; to make the Institute think twice about following him,” Rhiannon suggested.

“That must be it!” Amari snapped, “He’s using the radiation like a shield, or cloak… a way to throw them off and be at an advantage!”

“If Virgil found a way to survive there… we’ll have to do the same, if we’re going after him.” Simon theorized, “We’ll need Rad-X, hazmat suits, Power Armor would be the best, considering what  _ else _ lives there… Rad Away for sure…”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Rhiannon murmured. “Maybe we should get back to Diamond City, figure out our plan.”

“Be safe… and good luck.” Dr. Amari nodded, turning back to her work.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Rhiannon said, before heading over to Lilith and MacCready. The female mercenary had finally lifted her head, but she was still tightly huddled in the corner of the couch.

“Lily, you okay?” Simon knelt down in front of the woman. After a second, her frightened, far off stare focused on his face.

“I...” Lilith began, only to stop and swallow hard. “Maybe not. I think we should go.”

“Come on, then. Let’s get outta here.” Simon offered his hand. Lily accepted it after just a moment’s hesitation, uncurling slowly and rising to her feet.

Dogmeat looked between Lilith and Rhiannon, before licking the latter woman’s hand and pressing up against her leg comfortingly. Rhiannon gave the German Shepherd a grateful scratch behind the ears, and let him lead her ahead of the other three.

As Rhiannon emerged into the Memory Den’s lounge, she could see Nick sitting on a lounge by the door, staring down at the carpet. Brow furrowing in concern, Rhiannon approached. “Hey, Valentine?”

“Hope you got what you were looking for inside my head…” Kellogg’s gravely voice crawled out of Valentine’s mouth, as the Synth fixed her with a glare. Synthetic as Valentine always was, his eyes were suddenly  _ lifeless _ , and Rhiannon went cold. The mechanical voice of Kellogg laughed. “I was right… I should’ve killed you when you were on ice…”

“Kellogg?” Rhiannon whispered, almost afraid of the answer. The lights in Nick’s eyes glowed brighter, more yellow than a dull orange, and focused in on her face.

“What?” The detective’s voice was back to normal.

“You... are you feeling okay?” Rhiannon’s throat constricted, but she hoped the words sounded casual enough.

“Never better,” Valentine replied, standing up. The rest of the gang caught up to them, Lily trying to look put together again. “So, we heading out?”

“Yeah, back to Diamond City. We got a lot to sort through…” Simon nodded, an arm around Lily’s waist.

“Lead the way,” Valentine said, gesturing for the others to go on ahead. As they left, Rhiannon found herself lagging a few steps behind, staring at the back of Nick Valentine’s head. Maybe it was just a glitch, she told herself, or maybe Valentine was playing a joke on her in poor taste. It was fine, Rhiannon assured herself. It would all be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The closing part of Caldwell's speech to the Nuka World raiders is taken from "Pulse of The Maggots" by Slipknot.


	21. Takin' Care Of Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and friends take a number of odd jobs to help buy supplies for their quest to find Virgil in the Glowing Sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This… is a long one. Who wants over 10k words of sidequests? You do! Most of this chapter’s trigger warnings have been brought to you by the Mega Surgery Center.
> 
> Chapter TW: Sexual Content, Dismemberment, Suicide via Lethal Injection
> 
> This chapter’s title has been brought to you by Bachman-Turner Overdrive.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY ONE**

**TAKIN’ CARE OF BUSINESS**

* * *

**February 25th, 2288.**

“Wow. Only the nicest vacation spots for us.” Piper managed to recover her sarcasm after half a minute of stunned silence.

“I don’t know, I hear the glowing beaches are nice this time of year,” Lilith joked, her head resting on Simon’s lap as she lounged on Piper’s couch.

“Woof!” Dogmeat added from his seat next to Rhiannon.

“The pup’s got a point,” Simon shrugged, “Can’t even joke about going to the Glowing Sea unless we’ve got protection, and we’re gonna need caps if we want to afford hazmat suits and Rad-X and RadAway.”

“I don’t think that’s what Dogmeat said,” MacCready glanced between the mechanic and the German Shepherd. “…But I agree with you.”

“Well, getting caps isn’t too hard,” Lilith said, sitting up. “We’ve got the job board in the Dugout, and all the junk and plants we scavenged on the way back.”

“Not to mention, I’ve got a few open case files if we want to take a look,” Valentine suggested. The Synth was leaning against the wall, tightening the joints in his metallic hand with a small, red screwdriver.

“What about power armor?” Rhiannon added. “We’ve got one set back in Sanctuary. If we could… maybe get our hands on at least one or two more, we might be okay.”

“Well, I remember seeing power armor in the Vertibird wreckage by Satellite Station Olivia, y’know, where I told you Radstag hunting was good? Hopefully it’s still there.” Simon pointed out, “And… you’re going to hate me for this, and  _ I _ hate me for this… but…”

“But…?”

“There is  _ one  _ place I can almost guarantee you’ll get a suit of power armor.” Simon grimaced as the words came out of his mouth, “A certain military organization that’s been looming around the Boston Airport for the past month, an organization that has extended our dear general an invitation to join their ranks…”

“Abso- _ fucking _ -lutely not.” Rhiannon crossed her arms adamantly.

“Listen, I  _ hate _ the Brotherhood, can’t fuckin’ stand ‘em.” Simon held his hands up in surrender, “But first of all, it would be wise to get someone on the inside who can keep tabs on what  _ exactly _ they’re doing here… second of all, free power armor. And that Danse asshole took a liking to you, and from what I’ve heard… he’s kind of a big deal in there.”

“Simon, I already have enough work with the Minutemen-”

“Hey, Preston does a decent job on his own,” Lily interrupted. “At the very least, we should leave the option on the table.”

“On the table, but  _ only _ as a last resort,” Rhiannon insisted.

“Fair enough.” Simon shrugged, “So… how do we want to do this thing? There are six of-”

“Bark!”

“You don’t count right now,” Simon glared over at Dogmeat, “Six of us, so that’s three pairs. We split up, each take a job in town for caps, then meet back when we’re done?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Valentine finished tuning up his hand and hid his screwdriver back into his coat, “So. Who wants to come along with me for some detective work?”

“Screw it, I’m in,” MacCready volunteered.

“Really?” Lilith raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to help people solve their personal problems?  _ You _ are?”

MacCready responded by flipping the female mercenary off.

“Do you know of any jobs in town?” Rhiannon turned to Piper.

“Well… we could check with Abbot. He’s always looking for someone to run to the nearby hardware store and pick up some paint for the Wall.” The reporter answered after a moment of thought.

“Guess that leaves us to check out the Dugout, sugar.” Lily tugged on the brim of Simon’s cap.

“Hey!” Simon jerked his head away and hastily adjusted his newsboy cap back to the way it was.

“So we’ll all meet in the Dugout for dinner tomorrow?” Rhiannon suggested, getting to her feet.

“Sounds good. If business takes us too far away from the city, we’ll let you know first.” Valentine nodded.

“Then I guess we break,” Piper said, also standing. “I’ll show you to the wall, Blue.”

* * *

Case:  _ Earl Sterling’s Disappearance _

Client:  _ Vadim Bobrov _

_ Another disappearing act to unravel. Earl Sterling. Twenty-five year-old bartender at the Dugout Inn. One of the owners, Vadim Bobrov, noticed that Earl hadn’t been into work for a few days. _

_ Security was called in. No investigation, of course. “The Institute took him” is the unofficial word around town… as always. _

_ Vadim came into my office half-drunk with a sob story about how he and Earl went way back, and that he just can’t believe that Earl would get snatched up by the boogeyman. My gut says he’s right. _

_ Earl didn’t have any enemies, at least none with enough motive to kill the guy. Not living with anyone either, so I’ll have to see if Vadim or someone else at the Dugout has his keys. I’d rather not have to explain to security why I was picking the lock on Earl’s door if I get caught in the act. _

* * *

“The Earl Sterling case,” Ellie sighed when she noticed MacCready looking over one of the several files populating the table, “Apparently Earl just up and disappeared one day. No one’s seen him since…”

“I’ve been meaning to put Earl’s case to bed for awhile,” Nick said, “Glad you’re up for it.”

“To be honest, it was the first one I saw,” MacCready admitted with a shrug. “But, yeah. Let’s do it.”

“Good.” Valentine turned to his secretary as she began to straighten out a few boxes. “So, what’s your take on the case, Ellie?”

“On Earl?” Ellie glanced over. “Well, he didn’t have any enemies, that’s for sure. Someone would have to notice you’re alive first.”

“And Earl didn’t exactly have the charisma to inspire any crimes of passion.” Nick leaned against the desk and lit a cigarette. “So what’s that leave us?”

“I dunno, Nick. It can’t be the Institute... right?”

“Hmm.” Nick hummed, “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“I’m sorry,” MacCready interrupted. He tossed the file back onto the desk, and Valentine only just caught it from spilling its contents to the floor. “We’re seriously looking for some nobody with no life and no friends? Maybe he just... got fed up and skipped town. Didn’t think anyone would care so didn’t say anything.”

“Did you forget that we’re being  _ paid _ to investigate?” Valentine deadpanned as he looked over at the mercenary.

“Right,” MacCready drew out the word, “But I don’t get it. Why is anyone even worried about the guy?”

“Because some people actually  _ have _ a heart, MacCready.” Nick’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s rich, coming from the Tin Man.”

“Look, Nick says you two need the caps,” Ellie interjected. “Just focus on the pay, okay?”

MacCready threw up his hands, “Okay, whatever. Fine. let’s go.”

“Hold your horses, kid, you’re not going out like that.” Valentine extinguished his cigarette in his ashtray.

“Like what?” MacCready looked down at himself.

“Like a merc.” Valentine rolled his eyes, “People aren’t gonna want to talk to you.”

“Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

“Maybe, but people, especially security, aren’t gonna like seeing a merc poking around Diamond City.”

MacCready sighed; Nick had a point. He’d overheard Diamond City Security ask Rhiannon to make sure that he kept his guns holstered and the like several times before. Hell, they’d given him grief just for sitting at Power Noodles for a bite to eat.

“Okay, Valentine. Then what do you suggest?”

Ellie reached into the nearby closet, pulling out a clothes hanger.

“Oh no.” MacCready shook his head. “There’s  _ no way _ you’re getting me into that ratty piece of garbage.”

* * *

Piper led Rhiannon and Dogmeat past the shops and residences of Diamond City, weaving through the web of streets until they reached a flat plot of land, facing a green wall with a scoreboard. Benches were lined up in rows before it, starkly similar to church pews, and from what Rhiannon had gathered during her time in Diamond City, that was exactly the purpose they served.

At the wall, kneeling to reach a spot close to the ground, was an older gentleman in overalls with a bucket of green paint, and a large brush.

“Don’t touch the paint,” the man snapped as they came closer. He got back to his feet and turned to face them with a glare.

“What? Why?” Rhiannon blurted, a little taken aback by his sudden and sharp tone.

“This isn’t just some shack I’m painting,” the man explained. “This is the Wall, the great green guardian that keeps out the bad guys. No one’s broken through the Wall, never! Least we can do for her in return is keep her looking pristine.”

“We’re here to see if you need any help, Abbot,” Piper chimed in, resting an elbow on Rhiannon’s shoulder.

“Hmph. Well, your friend here could use a little education, I think. Maybe a bit of community service.”

“What do you need done?” Rhiannon asked.

“You see this paint I’m using?” Abbot held up his brush. “Only one place left in the whole Commonwealth you can get it: Hardware Town. Ruined store close by to the west. Bring back a can of paint, and it’ll be a hundred caps in your pocket. How’s that sound?”

“Hardware Town?” Piper raised an eyebrow. “I thought that place got overtaken by raiders.”

“It did,” Abbot confirmed. “Security says they can’t handle them. That’s why I’m running low. You gals still up for it?”

“Paint retrieval. We’re on it.” Rhiannon nodded.

“Bark!” Dogmeat agreed, tail wagging as he shifted from paw to paw.

“Much obliged.” Abbot gave them each a small nod before turning back to the bucket he had now. Dipping in his brush, he reverently continued to apply paint to the Wall.

“So, how far away  _ is _ Hardware Town?” Rhiannon asked as the trio headed back into town.

“Not far,” Piper assured her. “Biggest issue is gonna be dealing with the raiders. But we play it smart, and we should be okay. Always hard to tell if it’s really a threat more difficult than Security can handle, or if they’re just lazy.”

“Well, either way, let’s make sure we’re ready for anything and go get that paint.”

“Woof!”

* * *

Perhaps it was poor judgement to let Simon and Lily head to the inn alone after a month apart, as they had barely been there for ten minutes when the door to their room snapped shut and Lilith was already hungrily kissing Simon.

“Did you…” Simon attempted to speak, “Lock the door?”

After a second, there was the sound of the lock sliding into place. “I did now.”

“Fair enough.” Simon shrugged before wrapping his arms around Lilith, lifting her up and carrying her towards the bed provided.

“I missed you,” Lily admitted, wrapping her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.

“I literally had no idea I could miss someone as much as I missed you for the past month.” Simon smiled, pressing his lips to Lily’s before gently lowering her onto the bed. She pulled him down atop her, kissing him back eagerly.

Lilith slowly unbuttoned Simon’s flannel, her fingers trailing over every inch of skin she exposed, drawing out the anticipation.

“I think Percy missed you,” Simon chuckled as he attempted to guide Lily out of the faded old trenchcoat she’d taken from Nick and Ellie, “He mentioned you fifteen times in the span of a week.”

“Well, bless his heart,” Lilith laughed softly. “I’ll come back with you and see him.”

“You’ll probably like his ‘girlfriend,’ Ada, too… a little chatty, but he just  _ gazes _ at her sometimes. It’s adorable.”

“Mmm. Guess if he’s preoccupied then we’ll have plenty of time to ourselves.” Lily leaned up and nipped at Simon’s lower lip. She’d finally shrugged off her coat and opened his shirt, and now her hands moved to the waist of the mechanic’s pants.

“Or it’s another set of eyes to catch us.” Simon retorted, sitting up to throw his shirt off to the side. Lilith laughed a little at that. One hand moved up his chest while the other began to unfasten his pants.

“We’ll just have to be careful, then.” Once her hand reached Simon’s hair, she tangled her fingers in it and pulled him in for another kiss.

“Why don’t… you lose… some of those… layers?” Simon asked in between kisses.

“Why don’t you help me with that?” Lily teased, as she began to unbuckle her armor and the straps she wore over her light clothing.

Simon let out a mock sigh of exasperation as he helped undo the various straps and harnesses of Lily’s armor, “Ugh… if you  _ insist _ .”

“I really gotta start wearing something easier to get out of,” she muttered, but, practiced with her own adornments, it didn’t take long until she was stripped to just her pants.

“Really though,” Simon rolled his eyes, “It’s almost unfair.”

“It just helps build the anticipation, sugar.” One of Lilith’s hands slipped into the front of Simon’s jeans, beginning to slowly stroke his cock. “It’s worth the wait, isn’t it?”

“I…” Simon’s breathing hitched for a moment, “Guess so…”

Lily kissed him quickly, continuing her attentions. “Do you want me, Simon?”

“Yes.” Simon responded immediately, “Do you want me?”

“So badly,” Lily answered. She moved her hands to push Simon’s pants down over his hips, then began to struggle out of her own. Simon assisted, and eventually the pair was stripped bare before each other.

“Where do you want me?” Simon asked.

“Ooh, I have options?” Lily grinned. “I want you everywhere, sugar.”

Simon let out a weary sigh, “Tell me what you want.”

Lily’s grin softened, and she rested her hands on his cheeks, pulling Simon close. “I want you to start slow and sweet, and by the end of it, I want you fucking me so hard I can’t remember my own name.”

Simon adjusted his position, and pressed his lips to hers for a quick kiss before inserting himself.

“As you wish.”

* * *

“Well…” Piper sighed as they stepped past the gate where she’d met the woman and dog at her side, “Here’s hoping they don’t lock the door on us… again.”

“We’ll find a way back in,” Rhiannon assured Piper. “I doubt Nick will let us sit out in the cold if he realizes what happened. We know the right people now.”

“Always on good behaviour, aren’t ya?” Piper remarked, almost more to herself.

“Didn’t realize I had been.” Rhiannon shrugged as they passed by the statue of a baseball player whose name she’d long forgotten.

“So this is you not even trying, huh?” Piper smirked, “I appreciate it… too few folks can be bothered. ‘Course in my experience, if you wanna do  _ real _ good, playing nice only gets you so far.”

Rhiannon glanced over at the reporter curiously.

“I mean… look at Diamond City, a place I’ve been trying to warn of real danger. But every issue I publish all I hear is: ‘Oh Piper, why don’t you publish anything happy?’” Piper’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she imitated her critics, “‘Piper, why can’t you write something nice for a change?’ It’s enough to make me want to hang up my hat some days…”

“Well, no one likes to think their home’s unsafe, and it’s not like there’s Raiders pounding on the gate,” Rhiannon said, kicking a dented tin can along ahead of her.

“Are you kidding me?” Piper huffed. “There is a very real chance that the city leadership has been infiltrated by an Institute Synth. A  _ Synth _ , under the control of an organization widely known to kidnap or murder anyone that stands up to them. I’d take raiders at the gate any day of the week over that. ‘Course, making sure folks are actually listening... that’s a battle in itself.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Rhiannon offered sympathetically.

“Ha. No kidding. But people, they deserve to know the truth. Sure, it can be scary, knowing what’s really out there. A night doesn’t go by I’m not afraid some Institute drone’ll decide today’s the day to pay ol’ Piper and family a visit. But it’s worth it. Because I know the truth. That’s what protects us.” The reporter’s voice took on a tone of determination, of hope, and Rhiannon couldn’t help but smile.

“Scared, huh?” Rhiannon gave Piper a gentle shove. “Could have fooled me.”

“I’m pushy, not crazy,” Piper retorted. “Honestly, these days I’m more scared for my sister. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her. But I’m not the only one with something to lose. That’s why people deserve to know what’s out there, good or bad.”

“I couldn’t agree more. How do you protect you and yours if you don’t know what you’re facing?”

“Exactly!” Piper nodded. “Most folks though, they prefer a comforting lie. Not me. I’ve seen firsthand what the truth can do. My sister and I, we grew up way out in the Commonwealth. Tiny little settlement. Our dad… he was part of the local militia. ‘Keeping the raiders off our backs and the Mirelurks out of our latrines,’ as he’d describe it.

“Well, one day… our dad turns up dead.” Piper stopped walking, her voice breaking a little as she recalled, “His captain, asshole named Mayburn, claims raiders must’ve gotten him on his watch.”

“Oh, Piper.” Rhiannon spoke with sympathy, reaching out to give the reporter’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Blue.” Piper wiped at her eye, sitting down on a nearby set of steps. Rhiannon settled beside her, and Dogmeat was more than happy to sit at their feet.

“Well, I didn’t buy it. So I made some inquiries… turns out, the captain, he sold out. Thought he wasn’t getting paid enough to babysit the town. He was gonna leave the gates open one night, let a group of raiders sack the place, and take a cut of the profits. My dad found out and was gonna turn Mayburn in, but Mayburn got to him first… and I wasn’t about to let that bastard get away with murder.

“I tried talking to the mayor, but he wouldn’t listen… how things have changed, right? Anyway, I papered the entire town in posters, ‘Wanted for Gross Dereliction of Duties: Captain Mayburn!’ The mayor sure wanted to talk after that. The town threw Mayburn out on his ass and were dug-in when a very surprised group of raiders finally showed up.”

“What happened after that?”

“We made due.” Piper shrugged, “Sis was still pretty young at the time and mom was… out of the picture, so we got by on the kindness of others for awhile. Eventually I saved up enough money to book us both passage with a caravan and we moved on up to the big city. Called it home ever since.”

“I’m... sorry about your dad,” Rhiannon offered after a quiet beat.

“Thanks. It was hard after he was gone, but knowing that he died doing right... that’s always made it easier.” Another moment of silence hung in the air before Piper shook her head. “But hey, I-I’m sorry if I’ve been rambling. I just get fired up sometimes. It’s just nice to talk to someone who actually seems to  _ get _ it, you know.”

“I know.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat added, putting a paw on Piper’s knee.

“Thanks, boy.” Piper scratched behind the German Shepherd’s ears. “So... should we head out? Hardware Town’s just around the corner.”

“Right behind you.”

* * *

“I can’t  _ believe _ I’m wearing this monkey suit,” MacCready grumbled as he and Nick stepped out into Diamond City, wearing a faded trench coat almost identical to the one Valentine wore, down to the tie.

“Oh, hush. You look fine, kid.” Nick rolled his eyes, “Now… back to the case. Nobody knew Earl better than the folks at the Dugout Inn, so let’s ask around there and see what people know.”

“Fine by me… you’re the detective.” MacCready shoved his hands into his pockets, sulking the entire way to the Dugout.

A few of the folks within glowered a little at the newcomers, mostly out of concern that Valentine would need to question them and interrupt their drinking, but the Synth headed straight for the bar. Behind it, Vadim was wiping down the counter, but looked up at their approach, tossing the rag over his shoulder.

“Come, come, have a drink! I didn’t buy bar to sell water!” Vadim greeted them before recognizing the rifleman, “Ha! MacCready, is that you?! What on earth are you wearing, my friend?”

“Vadim!” MacCready smiled, “Still killing people with your moonshine?”

“It is good to see you, tovarisch! How is Lucy? Still as beautiful as I remember?”

MacCready’s smile faded away, “No… she didn’t make it, Vadim.”

“I’m sorry, mouth tends to be faster than the brain. Tell you what, I’ll give you a drink on the house… for old times.” Vadim reached under the bar to grab a pair of glasses and a bottle.

“Thanks.” MacCready nodded, stepping up to the bar, “You were always a real stand-up kind of guy, Vadim… let’s drink.”

After the bartender and the merc-turned-detective shared a drink, MacCready spoke up, “Earl Sterling used to work here, right?”

“Poor Earl… gone… just like that.” Vadim sighed, “Such a good bartender. Good friend. But  _ terrible  _ with women, mind you. Bull in china shop with them.”

“You happen to have the spare key to his house?” Valentine asked, stepping up to the counter after briefly interviewing a few other individuals.

“Yes! Forgot to drop off key when I hired you.” Vadim slapped his forehead with a laugh, “Here, I hope you find out what happened. Security does nothing but yell at me for asking about it.”

“Thanks, Vadim.” MacCready nodded, taking the key.

“So, I had a chat with Yefim,” Nick said after they’d stepped away from the bar, “Apparently Earl was a real womanizer… Yefim had to warn him to stop pestering staff and patrons alike, but Vadim always stood up for him. Apparently he had an appointment with the Mega Surgery Center to get a facelift, and wouldn’t keep his mouth shut about it.”

“Well, alright. We should check his house, then swing by the Mega Surgery Center, see what Doc Crocker and Dr. Sun know.” MacCready pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

“You know, for someone who’s just going along out of financial obligation, you have a real knack for detective work,” Nick praised.

“All I did was talk to Vadim and point out the obvious.” MacCready rolled his eyes as he put a cigarette between his teeth.

“Are you wearing a fucking tie?” Lilith’s voice came from the hall, drawing MacCready and Valentine’s attention. The female merc had on her own trench coat, fully buttoned.

“Goddammit.” MacCready’s head dropped slightly.

“No, no, it looks… real good,” Lily backpedaled, trying not to laugh.

“Weren’t you supposed to be looking at the job board?” Valentine asked, pulling the conversation away from MacCready’s new uniform.

“And you talk about  _ my  _ outfit,” MacCready pointed at Lilith, “Your boots aren’t even tied, and- are you even-”

At that moment, Simon emerged from the hallway, still in the process of buttoning his flannel, “Hey, I changed my mind about the drinks, I don’t trust Vadim not to- oh… shit.”

“I was distracted,” Lilith said, voice dripping with false innocence.

MacCready let out a long sigh, “How did we not catch that leaving you two alone was a bad idea?”

“Too late now.” Lily grinned. “Anyways, once we get a few drinks and I uh... get dressed, we’ll be on the job board.”

“Come on, let’s leave the lovebirds and get back to work.” Valentine nodded towards the door. After a moment of glaring at the pair, MacCready followed the Synth.

Simon sighed and headed to the bar, “Vadim, two cans of water please.”

“Are you sure you’d rather not-”

“Just the water this time.  _ Please _ .” Simon cut off the bartender before he could offer his moonshine again.

“Your loss,” Vadim shrugged, passing over the two cans of water, “That’ll be forty caps.”

“Forty?” Lilith leaned on the bar, undoing her top coat button. “But we already bought a room, and we’re gonna have dinner tonight. Can’t we cut it to, say, twenty?”

Vadim let out a hearty laugh, “Oh, Lilith… your charms won’t work on me today. Forty it remains.”

Lilith’s coy smile dropped in surprise.

“How about thirty then?” Simon asked, glancing over at Lily, “And… I’ll take another shot of your moonshine.”

“Ha! Is worth it to see your face… deal.” Vadim laughed again, pouring a shot out for Simon to take. The mechanic grimaced at the glass on the bar for a few moments before downing it.

“Je-Jesus!” He coughed, pounding against his chest, “What the fuck- what’s in that?”

“Secret Bobrov family recipe!” Vadim chortled.

“Let’s go before we go blind, sugar.” Lily grabbed the cans of water from the counter and headed back to the bedroom. Simon followed close behind, pausing every so often to cough violently.

“I don’t know how I let him talk me into that… every time…” Simon grumbled as he shut the door behind him.

“We could have used those ten caps,” Lilith sighed, dropping to the edge of the bed.

“Are you okay?” Simon asked, turning over to Lily as he grabbed his can of water.

“Just peachy,” she replied, opening her can to take a long drink. “Better with you here.”

“That’s sweet,” Simon smiled, taking a drink of his own, “But  _ really _ . Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay?”

“What do you mean, sugar?” Lilith looked over at Simon curiously.

“Look, a lot of heavy shit happened yesterday,” Simon took another drink from his can, “And I can tell it’s been bugging you.”

“I’m just tired,” Lily said with a quick shrug. “Sleeping on the ground will do that. Pretty sure there was a root right under my back-”

“Lily.” Simon stared at the mercenary, not buying her excuse for a second. “What happened yesterday?”

“Well, first I woke up, rolled out of bed, had to pee like-”

“Lilith.” Simon put down his can and stepped over to Lily, gently caressing the mercenary’s cheek.

“I… I just was reminded of someone. I should have kept my cool. Rhiannon had to watch her husband die, again, and then she saw her son…”

“Who were you reminded of?” Simon asked. Lily pulled away from his hands, looking down and drumming her fingernails against the aluminum container of her water. “I’ll tell you where I got the scars if you tell me.”

Lilith turned back to Simon in surprise as the mechanic brushed his hair back, revealing the twin bullet wounds. She considered this for a moment, and then nodded.

“Um… that man in the coat. Someone… some _ thing _ a lot like him… Shit, sorry, sugar. It’s a lot. I’m not sure where to start.” Lilith ran her hand through her hair and set her drink aside. “A… a Courser like that killed my parents. Hunted them down like radstag and shut them down.”

Simon’s eyebrows raised as he sat down beside her, “A Courser? Were your parents-”

“Synths, yeah. Yeah, since I was eight. They um... took me in, I guess.”

“Wow. Shit, I’m sorry.” Simon ran a hand through his hair again, “How’d you… Coursers aren’t fans of leaving witnesses.”

“I was hiding,” Lily admitted. “They got me to get under the kitchen sink in the cupboard. I was nineteen. Didn’t think I’d still fit under there, but… it was just enough space.”

“Jesus…” Simon began to gently rub her back, “Wow, no wonder you reacted the way you did.”

“Yeah… bastard said some fucking… code words or something, and they just… went dead. Just shut down, and then he took them… I guess back to the Institute. There was a flash of blue light and they were just… gone.”

Simon, feeling he’d run out of words to express his surprise and sympathy, reached over and wrapped an arm around Lily’s shoulder, pulling her closer to him. She leaned into him, her arms wrapping around his chest, grateful for the comfort. After about a minute, Simon spoke up again.

“I got a job… a few years ago now. I was hired to deliver a platinum poker chip to the Lucky 38 casino in New Vegas. Turns out… the guy who hired me had a snake in his nest, and that son of a bitch and his cronies ambushed me on the way there. Beat me. Dug a hole. Shot me twice and left me in a shallow grave.”

“Holy shit.” Lilith’s eyes went wide. “How the hell’d you survive that?”

“I’ll never know how I survived two to the head, but this robot… Victor, he called himself, dug me out and dropped me off at the nearest doctor. The bullets… took a lot of my memories.” Simon sighed, “I can’t remember where I grew up, or who my mother was… there are a lot of blanks that I still haven’t filled.”

“Jesus,” Lily breathed. “That’s... that’s gotta be maddening.”

“It’s part of the reason I left the west.” Simon rested his head against Lily’s, “Easier to make a new start where it doesn’t matter that you can’t remember any of that shit… and less likely to run into someone you forgot.”

“I’ll bet,” Lily murmured. She tucked her face into the curve of Simon’s neck, and wished they could just spend the rest of the day here together. “If it makes you feel any better, sometimes I wish I could forget some of the shit from my life. Maybe there’s stuff better left forgotten.”

“Maybe.” Simon shrugged, “But we play with the hands we’re dealt. And maybe you can make those Institute motherfuckers pay for what they did to your parents, and to so many other people too.”

“I’m trying,” Lily murmured.

“What do you mean?”

There was a pause before Lily spoke again. “Do you... have a geiger counter?”

“Uhh…” Simon blinked, “Yeah? Right here on my Pip-Boy.”

“Oh.” Lily nodded, expression unreadable. “Yeah, I forgot. Anyways, I’m gonna get dressed. We gotta hold up our end of the job hunt.”

“Yeah, fair enough.” Simon nodded back, “Yeah. Let’s see if Vadim has work.”

* * *

“Somebody, please, help!”

A desperate voice from just up the road called Rhiannon and Piper to attention. Dogmeat barked as he charged forward, leading the women to the front of the hardware store.

“Hurry, she’s in here! Please help!” A woman in rags urged the group to follow her as she rushed into the building. As Rhiannon reached for the door handle, Piper grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing? Someone needs our help!”

“It’s a trap.” Piper responded grimly, “Hardware Town’s full of raiders, remember?”

“Woof!” Dogmeat agreed.

“So what do we do?” Rhiannon asked, glancing between Piper and the red doors of the hardware store.

“Well, we could still go in, knowing it’s a trap… or… we could go around back?” Piper suggested, “It’s your call, Blue.”

“Let’s give them a surprise,” Rhiannon suggested. “Then we have an edge in case Security really was in over their heads.”

Piper nodded and drew her 10mm pistol, double checking it was loaded, “Alright… here goes.”

The reporter shuffled closer to the door, pressing her back against the doorframe. Grabbing the handle, she turned it and pushed the door open. When the open doorway wasn’t riddled with bullets, the women crept in slowly.

“Come on, she’s back here! Hurry!” The bait called from the other side of a set of shelves as the door creaked and closed behind the reporter and the general.

“So what’s the plan?” Piper whispered over as they weaved through the ruined store.

“I bet they’re on the other side of that door,” Rhiannon pointed past the woman who’d been urging them onwards, “I took a grenade from Simon awhile back… I think it’s time to use it.”

“I’ll make sure the bait stays out of it.” Piper nodded.

“Hurry, please!” The woman pleaded as she pointed to a door, “She’s in here!”

As the group caught up, the woman reached for the door handles. Piper quickly grabbed the settler’s arm and pulled her back as Rhiannon pulled the grenade out of a side pouch.

“What are you-”

“Shh. We know.” Piper hushed the settler as the general opened the door, pulled the pin, and tossed the grenade into the room beyond it.

“Hey, what the fuck is that?” A gruff male voice asked as Rhiannon closed the door and motioned for her group to get back.

“Is that a grenade?”

“What the fuck-”

The muffled conversation between raiders was abruptly cut off by an explosion that warped the metal doors that seperated Rhiannon and Piper from the raiders.

“Get out of here!” Rhiannon ordered the settler as she pulled up her submachine gun. Beside her, Piper drew her 10mm pistol and took a deep breath.

The settler stumbled back, watching the two women burst into the next room and immediately begin firing off shots. As Rhiannon felled two of the raiders within, she could only hope this wasn’t going to become another fucking dungeon crawl.

* * *

“I’ll start here. Why don’t you check out the living room. Must be some hint as to where the boy ran off to…” Valentine suggested as MacCready closed the door to Earl Sterling’s residence.

“Whatever you say, boss.” MacCready rolled his eyes, but took a right turn and headed into the indicated room.

“You know, for all the talk, I’d put the chances of this being an Institute snatch job somewhere between ‘zero’ and ‘none.’” Valentine mused as he looked over a shelf, “Just think about it… Earl Sterling: local  _ assistant  _ bartender. Why not grab the bartender himself? Lord knows Vadim samples his own wares enough that some weird behaviour wouldn’t make anyone bat an eyelash.”

“Maybe that’s why the Institute would take Earl,” MacCready shrugged, pocketing a few packs of cigarettes from a display case in the middle of the room, “Because taking Vadim would be too obvious.”

“But Vadim has everyone’s ear,” Valentine called back. “People are more than willing to tell him their woes. They could’ve at  _ least  _ nabbed someone with some charisma…”

“Hold up, I got something!” MacCready called over, grabbing a slip of paper from underneath Earl’s couch and holding it out for the Synth. “Looks like Yefim was right when he said Earl was yapping on about a facelift.”

“A receipt from the Mega Surgery Center, huh?” Nick took the paper and looked it over, “Wonder what the good doctors have to say about that.”

“Only one way to find out.” MacCready smirked.

* * *

“Oh, here we go…” Yefim groaned as Simon and Lily approached the bar.

“Quiet, Yefim!” Vadim hushed his brother, “Simon, Lily, Tell me… Diamond City Radio, is terrible, yes? Makes you want to cut your own ears off?”

“I actually kinda like it,” Lily said with a frown. She looked between the two brothers. “The music’s always good, in my opinion.”

“Perhaps, but the DJ, Travis, is disaster!” Vadim exclaimed, “Something must be done and soon. We will have customers suiciding before long!”

“Vadim!” Yefim objected.

“Is true! Don’t you listen to my brother.” Vadim leaned in close to the pair to whisper, “Someone needs to…  _ get rid  _ of him. We need a new DJ for the radio! I don’t think many would notice if he… you know… disappeared…”

Lilith and Simon exchanged a startled look.

“Vadim isn’t serious,” Yefim interjected before either could respond, “He doesn’t want to have Travis killed.”

“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes.” Simon gave Vadim an irritated look, “Can you imagine if someone took you  _ seriously _ and actually _ killed  _ Travis?”

“What  _ do _ you want done with Travis then?” Lilith asked, setting her hands on her hips.

“He means well, but he does not have the confidence he needs for that job…” Yefim replied, “Or…  _ anything  _ else, really, so he’s always awkward. He does not believe in himself, you see? He expects himself to fail at everything, and so he does.”

“Sounds like Simon,” Lily teased, gently elbowing the mechanic. Simon glared back at Lily for a moment before turning back to Yefim and Vadim.

“Well… what do you expect us to do?”

“I was just getting to that,” Vadim said, shooing his brother away, “Go on, spoilsport, go back to working.  _ We _ will figure out how to help Travis. Come then, meet me in back room. We discuss plan.”

“Normally I’m leery of following people into the back rooms of bars,” Lily murmured to Simon as they followed after Vadim, “But this could be fun, and lucrative.”

“Your two favourite words,” Simon laughed.

Once the trio had gathered in the back room, Vadim turned to them and clapped his hands together. “I am glad the two of you are on board to help, unlike my deadbeat brother. Travis is good guy, he deserves better life.”

“Well, we’re always happy to help out,” Lily offered.

“Okay, so… Travis needs to believe in himself, yes? Believe he is capable of more. You know what works well for this?”

“Patience and understanding?” Simon offered.

“A bar fight!” Vadim grinned, “Have you ever been in one?”

“Yes,” Lilith answered, immediately, matching Vadim’s grin.

“I mean…  _ technically _ , I suppose.” Simon shrugged.

“Excellent!” Vadim’s smile threatened to break his face as he wrapped an arm around Simon’s shoulder, “Because you, my friend, are going to help Travis win his first fight!”

“Uhh...” Simon glanced uncertainly between Lilith and the bartender.

“I want to stage fight here in Dugout,” Vadim leaned in, though his voice retained its volume, “Nothing too serious, we make sure Travis wins and feels good about himself after. I want you to help make it look real, and to give him a hand. What do you think? Sound good to you?”

“When do we start?” Lily asked, rubbing her hands together.

“Why not soon as possible?” Vadim asked, giving Simon a hard pat on the back, “I have contacts, people I can count on. Real tough looking, but willing to take dive for money. They confront Travis here at Dugout, you step in and give him push he needs to stand up to them. The you and Travis take them down, nothing gets  _ too  _ rough, and Travis has something he can feel good about. Simple, right?”

“Simple… right…” Simon echoed, though his voice was much less enthusiastic.

“Speaking of money, Vadim,” Lily added, “You know we’re not gonna risk Simon’s pretty face, or mine, for free. How much are you willing to put up for our involvement in this?”

“Caps, you want?” Vadim smiled, “I can put some money aside for you, perhaps throw in some free food and drink for two of you. What do you say?”

“How much is some?” Lilith persisted.

“Mmm… about a hundred caps?” Vadim shrugged.

“Mmm, make it a hundred ten and you’ve got a deal,” Lilith attempted to haggle.

“Ha! I like you, hundred ten it is!” Vadim smiled and shook Lily’s hand, “I have everything ready by six o’clock tonight. Travis should be here by then. Then you two show up, and it will go well. Promise.”

“We’ll see you at six,” Simon sighed.

* * *

“Well… at least it wasn’t another fucking dungeon crawl,” Rhiannon sighed in relief as they found where the paint was kept, within the same room they’d just finished clearing of raiders.

“There’s no green paint…” Piper sighed, “Well… the Wall would look good in blue, right Blue?”

“Maybe, but-” Rhiannon looked around. “Aha! There we go.”

The general headed over to a yellow machine on a nearby table. “Piper, do we have any yellow?”

“Yeah… but what does-” Piper stopped and slapped her palm to her forehead, “Dammit, Piper.”

“I just hope we can figure out the right shade of green.” Rhiannon took the paint cans as Piper handed them over. Pouring both cans of paint into the mixer, the machine shook violently for a few moments before producing a can’s worth of green paint. Piper stared into the mixture, appraising it.

“Well… it’s pretty close, if not exact.” She nodded, “Let’s get this to Abbot.”

* * *

“Hey, doc-”

“If you’re here to be examined, let’s get you examined,” Dr. Sun interrupted the rifleman, setting aside the assorted tools of his chemistry station to address the prospective patients.

“Uhh… no thanks, I’m good.” MacCready raised his hands in surrender.

“Do you happen to know anything about this receipt?” Valentine asked, passing the paper over to Dr. Sun.

“Let me see.” Dr. Sun took the slip and read over it a few times, “Hmm… this is Doctor Crocker’s  _ deplorable _ handwriting all right. It looks like Earl Sterling was one of his patients. The procedure noted here is mundane, low-risk cosmetic work. Doctor Crocker never performed it, however, said Earl vanished before he paid.”

“Where is Doc Crocker?” MacCready asked.

“Last time I saw him, he had to get something out of the Surgery Cellar. Probably had to wash some needles or move storage around.” Dr. Sun answered with a shrug.

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to check out that cellar, doc.” MacCready shifted his weight on his heels.

“What does this look like? A public outhouse?!” Dr. Sun demanded, before blinking and backpedaling, “You know what, don’t answer. Why on earth would I let you down there?!”

“We’re investigating Earl’s disappearance,” Valentine spoke up, “And unfortunately the trail seems to be leading towards your basement.”

“Hey, Nick…” MacCready had turned towards the cellar door, and paused, “There’s a pretty big trail of blood here.”

“You can’t honestly think…” Dr. Sun gasped, before giving an exasperated sigh, “You know what… fine. If it’ll put the matter to rest. Here, go see for yourself.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” Nick took the key graciously and headed towards the hatch.

“If I see  _ one  _ instrument out of place, you’ll be getting the bill!” Dr. Sun warned the detectives as they unlocked the hatch.

* * *

Six o’clock wasn’t far off. Lilith and Simon had time to sell off a few of the plants and scrap material they’d scavenged on the hunt for Kellogg, but soon found themselves stepping back into the Dugout Inn.

“You’ve got this, sugar,” Lily assured Simon with a kiss to the cheek. “It’s just a bar fight. You’ve been through worse.”

“Yup. Yeah. Worse.” Simon blinked a few times, “I’m… not that much of a  _ fighter _ . I’m more of a…  _ fixer _ .”

“Well, you’re about to help fix this kid’s attitude.” Lily gave him a shove forward, then called out to a nervous looking young man in a letterman jacket, just heading in a few feet in front of them. “Hey! Travis!”

The young man visibly jumped, spinning to face them. “Oh. Lily. I... I haven’t seen you in... gosh, in awhile. And you… have someone new… with you.” He turned to address Simon, but seemed to choke. “I, I don’t, I don’t… uh… Okay, I usually don’t…  _ oh my God. _ This is why. This is why.”

“It’s okay, man, I know how you feel,” Simon put his trembling hand out for Travis to shake, “Just breathe.”

“Uh… oh… okay… yeah…” Travis swallowed hard and reached out to shake Simon’s hand. “I-I’m Travis. Oh, but… you, you knew that, because Lily… already said my name.  _ Stupid. _ ”

“I’m Simon. Good to meet you.” Simon nodded.

“Hey!” A rough looking man suddenly grabbed Travis by the shoulder and spun him around, “I don’t like your little radio program. What have you got to say about that?”

“I… I… I’m sorry?” Travis stammered.

“Oh, you’re ‘sorry?’ Is that all?” The man crossed his arms, “How about you lick my boots as an apology, you little shit?”

“I’d… I’d rather not?”

“You looking for trouble, little man?” The thug’s friend stepped into Travis’s space, grabbing the man by the collar.

“I… uhh… I mean… I’m not… looking to cause y’know… trouble…” Travis stepped backwards into Simon and Lily.

“Are you gonna take that?” Lily gave Travis a gentle prod forward. “Kick his ass, Travis!”

“That, uhh… that doesn’t sound… like a good idea…” Travis mumbled.

“Just stand up for yourself… if it gets ugly, I got your back.” Simon put a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Well… if you think it would work…” Travis replied anxiously, before turning back to the thugs, “Oh… okay… that’s… that’s enough.”

“Oh, I’m sorry? Did you say something?” The man sneered at the DJ. Travis began to shrink back, but Lilith gave him another shove.

“I… I said… that’s enough. Leave me alone!”

The two thugs burst into laughter, “Look at you… let me think about it for a second… mmm, nah, I don’t think so.”

“I… I mean it. Leave me alone!” Travis raised his voice, louder than he’d ever spoken in public before. At the bar, watching intently, Vadim flashed Lilith and Simon a smile and a thumbs up.

“Sounds like you were thinking of saying ‘or else,’ were ya Travis?” The first thug straightened out his leather jacket, “Were you gonna say ‘or else?’ I’m wonderin’ what comes  _ after _ that. What’re you gonna do, little man?”

“I’ll… I’ll beat you up!” Travis declared. Lilith began to slowly retreat, heading over to the bar to take a seat.

“Big mistake, Travis. I’m gonna destroy you, and your friend here.”

“Wait, what?” Simon blinked twice before the second thug blindsided him with a haymaker, sending him to the ground. Lily and Vadim both winced.

“I got this one, Gouger.” The first thug cracked his knuckles at Travis.

“Whatever you say, Bull.” The second thug loomed over Simon’s prone body.

“Keep your hands up!” Lily shouted to Simon and Travis. “And don’t- Jesus, Travis! Don’t tuck in your thumbs! You’re gonna break them!”

“Come at me, little man,” Bull growled at Travis, arms stretched out, “I’ll even let you throw the first punch.”

“Mother… fuckin’ son of a…” Simon wiped blood away from his nose as his opponent loomed over him. Feeling a burst of rage, Simon kicked the man in the kneecap, causing him to stumble back. The mechanic then charged Gouger, tackling and pushing him into the wall.

Travis readjusted his fingers, and then threw a weak punch into Bull’s chest. The man stumbled back a step, and raised a hand to swing at Travis. The DJ yelped, ducking just in time. As he came back up, he managed to catch Bull in the jaw with a left swing, harder than he probably meant to.

“Somebody call security!” Someone in the crowd gasped.

“Fuck that, somebody get a camera!” Another voice laughed, “Go Travis!”

Bull spat a little blood onto the floor, having bitten his cheek in the midst of that last punch. The thug swung wildly at Travis, the nervous man haphazardly blocking and dodging a few strikes before throwing a jab of his own into the leather-clad man’s face.

“My nose!” Bull exclaimed.

Vadim poured Lilith a glass of something mostly clear, and she took it without question. Her eyes were affixed on Simon as he drove his knee into Gouger’s gut. Gouger retaliated by jabbing Simon in the eye with his thumb, causing the mechanic to reel back. Lily was on her feet in an instant, headed across the bar before Vadim could grab her arm.

The second she reached them, Lilith’s fist snapped out before either man could react, sending Gouger’s head back against the concrete wall. The thug fell to his knees, holding onto his nose as it began to pour blood down his face.

“Get your goddamn hands off my fucking boyfriend!” Lilith snapped, pulling Simon away and shoving him behind her.

“Wait, what?” Simon blinked rapidly, trying to focus.

Bull, holding his nose as he turned to face Vadim at the bar, didn’t see Travis wind up again, nor did he expect a third punch to the face, taking this one hard in the side of the mouth. Something audibly popped, Bull hit the floor, and Travis hissed in pain, shaking out his hand.

“Ow, ow, ow...”

“Aww, god, my jaw…” Bull groaned as he picked himself off the floor, “Bullshit, man.. Just… bullshit… this is  _ not  _ what I signed up for…”

The leather-clad thug began to stumble towards the door, his companion close behind, “I’m gonna be back… this ain’t over, ya hear me?”

Travis stared after the two men, a little dumbfounded, before he punched the air with both fists. Turning to Simon and Lily, he spoke breathlessly, “I... I can’t believe it! We did it!”

“Well… this changes things, I’m sure,” Simon stammered, rubbing at his eye.

“I guess… Maybe it does, huh?” Travis sounded positively exhilarated. “I just never thought I could do… anything like that!”

“Here, Trav.” Lilith handed the DJ the drink Vadim had poured her. “You earned it.”

“Boy… I just… well, I don’t even know what to say!” Beaming at Lilith, Travis took a drink from the glass, and immediately spit the liquid back into it. “Oh… oh wow that is, uh, uh… That’s rubbing alcohol… I think.”

“Speaking of thinking, maybe you should head out and go clear your head. Process all of this, huh?” Lily clapped him on the back.

“Yeah...” Travis looked over to Simon and gave a small smile. “Hey, listen. Thanks. A lot.”

“No problem, Travis.” Simon nodded, “See you around.”

Travis gave them both a wave, and headed out of the Dugout with his head held slightly higher.

“Ha! I think that went well!” Vadim clapped as Simon and Lily returned to the bar, “Ready for next part of fool-proof plan?”

“Does it involve getting Simon’s face patched up?” Lily glowered at Vadim. “You said this was gonna be a fake fight!”

“Simon was supposed to make fight look real!” Vadim smiled as he pulled a medical kit from under the bar, “He did fantastic job!”

“You alright, sugar?” Lily glanced over at Simon worriedly.

“Yeah,” Simon coughed, “I… don’t think anything’s broke. My eye hurts like a motherfucker though.”

“Next part of plan is nice and simple,” Vadim cut in, setting the medical kit on the counter. “You have seen Scarlett, yes? She has worked here for some time.”

“The blonde with the broom?” Lily guessed, helping Simon look through the surprisingly sparse kit.

“The very same. Now, I am just simple bartender, but I see things. I see how Travis looks at her. And I see that sometimes she looks at him.”

“Must be great, being able to see,” Simon deadpanned.

Vadim laughed loudly, before continuing. “If someone who was not her employer suggests that she go spend some time with Travis, it might do him some good. I would suggest perhaps Lilith use her charms. Much simpler, much more effective, maybe. But she is your girlfriend, so, would be inappropriate, no?”

“I…” Simon’s mind went blank and his mouth dropped open. Lilith’s cheeks turned a distinct shade of crimson, but she kept her eyes on the medical kit.

“We’ll have a chat with her,” Lily said quickly.

“Yes, I know, this is why I’m telling you,” Vadim chuckled. “Just do whatever it takes to get her to agree to see Travis, and this is all worth it. And you and I  _ never _ talked about this, alright?”

With a wink, Vadim turned around to begin organizing the bottles behind the bar.

* * *

“You’re back,” Abbot greeted, a cigarette between his fingers as he gazed up at the wall, “You find that paint?”

“We sure did!” Piper answered cheerfully.

“Well we found blue and yellow,” Rhiannon admitted. “Hopefully we got the mixture right.”

“Now that’s damn fine news…” Abbot smiled, “Why don’t you go ahead and paint the first stroke? Let’s see how the shade matches up.”

Rhiannon took the offered paintbrush, cracking open the can she’d carried back, and dipped the bristles in. The sun was starting to go down, but as she dragged the brush against the wall, the woman let out a sigh of relief to see the shades nearly identical.

“Mmmhmm…” Abbot appraised the wall, looking back and forth between where Rhiannon had a line of wet, green paint and the rest of the wall, “That’s a good shade of green. The Wall sure seems happy with it.”

“Well, we’re happy to have helped,” Rhiannon said, handing the man his brush back.

“Here’s your payment, and a bonus for getting the right shade of green,” Abbot handed over a bundle of caps, “Don’t do anything with it that I wouldn’t do.”

“Thanks, Abbot.” Piper smiled as the man went back to his work maintaining the Wall. Rhiannon quickly looked over the caps.

“Well, we have a bonus,” she said to Piper. “How about we get a drink? I think we’ve earned one.”

“Oh my God, yes.” The reporter let out a sigh, “Let’s stop by Power Noodles for a bite though. I’m kinda hungry, and I’m not sure if I trust Vadim’s cooking.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat barked in agreement, following at their heels.

* * *

“Oh, Earl… you’ve… you’ve really been quite a handful, you know?”

A voice echoed around the small cavern that the doctors used as their cellar as Valentine and MacCready slowly descended the ladder. MacCready couldn’t help but feel that the voice was familiar… someone he may have met in passing, or had a brief conversation once a long time ago.

“But I think we’re just about done. Our little mistake is finally going to be…  _ corrected _ .”

As they reached the bottom, Nick and MacCready looked around the room. The cave floor, a table, and a nearby chair were absolutely  _ coated  _ in blood, and a shadowed figure stood at the other end of the cellar, standing over a pile of… were those… human remains?

“Oh, naughty,  _ naughty _ ! You’re not supposed to be down here!” Dr. Crocker turned around with a pipe pistol drawn and a crazed smile as he heard the detective’s footfalls, “But that’s okay… I can  _ fix _ that. I can fix  _ anything _ !”

“What have you done to Earl Sterling, Crocker?” Valentine demanded.

“What did _ I _ do?” Crocker repeated back, “ _ I _ didn’t do anything! It was  _ Earl _ … it was  _ Earl _ who didn’t want to be happy!  _ Good  _ patients get a nice, new face…  _ bad  _ patients bleed all over the floor because  _ they want to screw up their surgeon’s life _ !”

MacCready and Valentine shared a glance, during which the rifleman spun a finger around his ear a couple times.

“So, you were performing surgery, and some kind of  _ accident _ happened… and Earl didn’t make it… is that it?” Valentine asked.

“I…  _ might _ have had… just a  _ bit _ of… Jet before operating… So I nipped a few arteries I shouldn’t have? Who hasn’t?” Crocker stammered. At this, MacCready’s hand audiably smacked into his forehead, “But I’m a problem solver, you see? I knew that if Earl ‘disappeared’ then everyone would just think that the Institute took him!”

“And you  _ really  _ think you can get away with this?” MacCready asked, his hand drifting to his back for a moment before realizing that his rifle would be no good in such close quarters.

“Get away with this?! Don’t you know who I am?!” Crocker laughed in a bout of manic hysteria, “I’m Doc Crocker! Doc Crocker never does anything wrong! And once this is all over, no one will have any reason to question that!”

“You killed a man, doc, and you’re gonna pay for it.” MacCready responded sternly, “Put the gun down… you’re coming with us.”

“Let’s not do anything rash.” Valentine added, his hand slowly reaching for his pipe revolver, just in case.

“I… I did it. I… I killed a man…” Crocker’s voice broke as the guilt began to consume him, his pipe pistol clattering to the floor, “Oh… oh God… there’s… there’s so much blood… it’s… so much blood, all over me!”

Before MacCready or Valentine could react, Crocker grabbed a syringe with additional canisters and wires strapped to it and plunged the needle into his arm.

“I… can fix… anything…” The disgraced doctor gasped out as he collapsed to the floor, spasming for a few moments, foaming at the mouth, before going still.

“What’s going on here?!” Dr. Sun demanded as he pulled open the hatch and descended the ladder. The doctor gasped when he saw the state of the cellar, “Is… is that… Doctor Crocker? You two owe me an explanation! What happened here?!”

“I think  _ you _ owe  _ us _ an explanation, Doc!” MacCready wheeled on the doctor, “Your partner was cutting Earl Sterling up into little pieces!”

“Cutting him up into-” Doctor Sun gasped, “Why would he- wait… the facial reconstruction surgery… if he really  _ did  _ go through with it… and it went  _ badly _ … Doctor Crocker was willing to go  _ that far  _ to protect his reputation?!”

“So what are you going to do now, Doc?” Valentine asked.

“Now?!” Dr. Sun sighed, “Now I have a report to file, a mess to clean up, and a lot of explanations to give to our patients. The two of you should get going. A medical professional should be the one to handle all of this… contamination.”

“Whatever you say, Doc.” MacCready shrugged, heading for the ladder. Once outside, the mercenary let out a long sigh as he reached for one of the packs of cigarettes he’d taken from Earl’s home.

“So, the doctor did it. Feels like there’s a cliche in there somewhere.” Valentine sighed, lighting a cigarette of his own before offering the flame to MacCready.

MacCready gratefully accepted the light. After a long drag, the Synth spoke up again.

“You know, you’re better at this than I thought you’d be, and I already thought you’d be pretty good.” He smiled over at the young man.

“Yeah, well…” MacCready dropped his gaze. “Don’t get used to it. I’m just here for the caps.”

“Sure kid, whatever you say.” Valentine rolled his eyes, “What’d’ya say we get paid and get a drink?”

“Hell yeah.”

* * *

Following Vadim’s advice for where to find Scarlett, Lily and Simon headed out of the Dugout Inn and down the side streets of Diamond City. The mechanic trailed half a step behind the mercenary, his hands shoved into his pockets. After a few moments of the silence, Lilith slowed until they fell into step with one another.

“You sure you’re okay, sugar?”

“Yeah… just thinking…” Simon said somewhat distantly. Lily bumped her shoulder into his lightly, before linking their arms. The mechanic took a deep breath.

“What  _ are _ we?”

Lilith’s steps faltered slightly. She took a moment to look up at Simon, opened her mouth to speak, shut it, and tried again. “I... I’m not... I mean... We’re... us. I guess.”

“But… what do you want out of…” Simon gestured between them, “This? Are… we just having fun? Are we… a thing?”

“I… don’t know,” Lilith admitted. “Maybe it’s too early to say. I just know that… I like you, a lot. Shit, that makes me sound like a thirteen year old. You know what I mean. You’re so smart, and funny, and sweet. You… I’m happy with you. I like when we talk, when we just… just sit together. I like watching you work, I like holding your hand, and kissing you, and sleeping with you. I like  _ being _ with you. And… I’m not sure what that means, if there’s a label for that. What do  _ you _ want out of this?”

“Well… I…” Simon stammered for a moment, “I mean… I wasn’t expecting…  _ any  _ of this to happen. And like… I just… don’t know how to… like… are we dating? I don’t know. I mean… I just… don’t know. But I like you. I like being around you. Shit, I’m sorry, I’m so  _ bad _ at this…”

“Do you... do you want to date me?” Lilith pulled them both to a halt just behind the buildings on the edge of the city. “Do you want to be something?”

“Doesn’t  _ everybody _ want to be  _ something _ ?” Simon asked with a shy smile. Lilith smiled back and gave the brim of his hat a playful tug.

“Ha ha. You’re so funny.”

“But… yeah. Yeah. I mean… I do, but… I’m  _ afraid _ .” Simon looked down, “I mean… we’re doing a lot of  _ crazy _ shit. It’s not like I’m still a homebody in a truck stop. Jesus, look at me out here doing…  _ stuff… _ and  _ things… _ with  _ people _ . And now we’re going into the Glowing Sea and… I don’t wanna lose you, y’know?”

Lilith took Simon’s face gently in her hands, lifting his chin so he met her gaze. “You won’t. I can handle myself, Simon, and you can handle yourself. We’re capable people, which is why we can do all of this stuff and these things. And together... hell, we make a pretty damn good team. If... you want that. And you don’t have to want that, I’ll understand.”

Simon nodded, “I do. Want that, I mean…”

“Yeah?” Finally, a hopeful smile broke across her face.

Simon pulled Lily into a hug, planting a kiss on her cheek, “Yeah.”

“Then... yeah, let’s do it. Let’s... let’s be a  _ thing _ .” Lily laughed a little, then turned her head to kiss him.

“Ey! Get a fuckin’ room, ya lousy kids!” Moe Cronin shouted over at them as he passed by. Without breaking the kiss, Lilith flipped him off.

“So,” Simon laughed as they came apart, “Now you gotta convince Scarlett to give Travis a shot?”

“Yep.” Lilith took his hand in hers and continued leading Simon towards the wall. “Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“I mean… if  _ I  _ could find someone like you, Travis has hope.” Simon shrugged. Lily made a sound between a scoff and a laugh, but regained her composure as they approached a young woman leaning against the benches and watching Abbot gather up his supplies.

“All you, sugar.” Simon poked Lily forward as he drifted off for a moment, catching a member of Diamond City Security in a conversation.

“Scarlett?” Lily called. The other woman rolled her eyes and didn’t turn.

“I’m on a break right now.”

“Oh, no, not here to talk business, hon.” Lily smiled and leaned on the bench opposite Scarlett. “I’m actually here on a friend’s behalf. You have a minute to talk about Travis?”

“T-Travis? Really?” Scarlett stammered, now at attention, “Did he… did he mention me?”

Lilith grinned, shrugging casually.

“I heard about the fight. Travis was… well, he was very brave.” Scarlett ran a hand through her hair, clearly trying to act casual, but failing.

“Oh, hell yeah, he was! There were two men, about twice his size that he sent running off. He decked one right in the jaw. Knocked him on his ass, and sent him scurrying out the door.” Lily gestured excitedly along with her story. “You know, you should really pay him a visit.”

“You think?” Scarlett asked, “I mean, I’ve definitely  _ noticed _ him… maybe… no, I couldn’t just go over there…”

“Why not? Hey, look, woman to woman.” Lilith leaned in conspiratorially. “Travis is a real nice guy. Sweet, genuine,  _ employed _ . I can tell that you like him, and I’m pretty damn sure he likes you. Just... go talk to him. You never know, you know?”

“Okay, I will.” Scarlett nodded, “I’ll go see him now. Thanks.”

As Scarlett walked away, Simon walked up behind Lily, wrapping his arms around her, “How’d it go?”

“Perfect.” Lily leaned back and pressed a kiss to Simon’s cheek. “She’s on her way to see him now, in fact.”

“I hope Vadim doesn’t give her shit if she’s late coming back to work,” Simon sighed, “But… it  _ was _ part of his plan, so…”

“Are you kidding me?” Lily began to head back to the inn, lacing her fingers with Simon’s. “Vadim would probably give her the whole weekend off if he knew it meant Travis was getting laid.”

Simon laughed, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Let’s just hope this plan comes to a less risky conclusion. If she wasn’t head over heels for Travis, that would have been a tough conversation.”

On the way back, Lilith stopped them at Power Noodles, and somehow managed to convey to to Takahashi that she only wanted some chopsticks to take with her. She was just snapping them into pieces to draw for lots as they headed back into the Dugout, and found the bar unmanned.

“This is terrible…” Yefim paced the room nervously as a few members of Diamond City Security interviewed witnesses, “Oh, I knew it… I knew it! He was up to no good, and look what’s happened now!”

Noticing Simon and Lily enter, the innkeeper rushed up to them, “You’ve got to help! I can’t do it… you’ve got to help me!”

“Whoa, take it easy, Yefim.” Lily tucked the chopsticks away. “What’s going on?”

“They took him! They took Vadim!” Yefim exclaimed.

“What?” Lily and Simon blurted in unison.

“Those men… the ones that messed with Travis, they came back! Said Vadim owed them money, that they had a deal. He wouldn’t pay, and they grabbed him and said they’d  _ make  _ him pay… and then they just… dragged him out!”

“Wait, is he not gonna pay any of us?” Lilith asked, looking horrified.

“You have to do something, please tell me you can do something!” Yefim looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“We’ll find him,” Simon promised, holding out his hands to calm the other man.

“Please, just bring him back! He’s an idiot, but he’s my brother. I’d go with you, but someone has to stay here.” Yefim let out a sigh of relief, “Talk to Travis, maybe he knows something.”

“Hey, what’s going on here? Did something happen?”

Piper’s voice drew Simon and Lily’s attention to the door where the reporter, Dogmeat, and Rhiannon were just making an entrance.

“Bark!” Dogmeat greeted, tail wagging wildly as he spotted the mercenary and mechanic.

“Vadim’s been kidnapped,” Simon explained.

“Owed money to some real assholes who can’t do a simple job right,” Lilith elaborated.

“Oh my God!” Piper gasped, “Blue, we gotta-”

“Hey! What’s all the commotion?” Valentine asked as he and MacCready stepped out of the entry hallway and into the Dugout Inn.

“Vadim owed some dickbags some money, didn’t pay, got kidnapped,” Lily rehashed quickly.

“Any leads?” MacCready asked.

“Yefim says we should talk to Travis, but I-” Simon started, but Piper cut him off.

“Then let’s go! We can’t waste any time!” The reporter started pushing and pulling the group towards the door.

“Wait, Travis?” MacCready craned his neck to look at Simon. “That awful DJ?”

“Long story,” Simon replied as Piper shoved him towards the door, “Jesus, Piper, I’m going!”

Piper led the group to a section of the city they hadn’t traversed yet, ending at a rickety looking trailer held up on pipes, beams, and a ladder. Above the trailer, a large neon sign lit up the surrounding area. Simon and Lily took point now, heading up side by side, the mercenary pounding on the door.

“Travis!”

“Travis, if you’re there, open up!” Simon called. The door creaked open, and Travis peeked outside. Over his shoulder, they could just see Scarlett straightening out her hair.

“Hey there.” Travis paled as he saw the large group of people gathered outside of his door, his eyes widening. “Uh... what’s going on?”

“We need your help,” Piper spoke, leaning over Simon’s shoulder.

“Vadim’s been kidnapped by Bull,” Lilith explained.

“That’s not funny,” Travis said quickly. He moved to shut the door again when MacCready reached over Lily’s head and slammed a hand to it.

“You think this is a joke?” The rifleman demanded. “It’s not, we’re serious.”

“Ha…” Travis gave some weak, nervous laughter, “Wait, what? Really?”

“Yes, really!” MacCready snapped. Lily set a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back a step.

“Oh… oh man… wow.” Travis stammered, “This… this is because of that bar fight, isn’t it? It’s… this is  _ my  _ fault…”

“The hell does it matter whose fault it is?” Piper demanded, “We gotta get him back!”

“You’re right…” The DJ nodded, “Maybe it doesn’t matter, but getting him back does.”

“Travis?” Scarlett spoke up, uncertain. After a quiet exchange of words, she left, awkwardly navigating the six strangers and the dog that crowded the ladder steps. Once she had departed, Travis sighed heavily.

“Look, I don’t… I don’t really… I mean, I don’t have a lot of friends, if Vadim is missing, or in trouble, or whatever… I’m gonna help get him back.” Travis said, determination slowly seeping into his voice.

“You  _ really  _ think you’re capable of doing what needs to be done?” MacCready asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re… you’re talking about  _ killing  _ people… aren’t you?” Travis paled a little, “I mean… if… that’s what it’ll take…”

“I’ve heard enough to know that they’re probably holed up at the old Beantown Brewery.” Valentine spoke up, a lit cigarette between his skeletal, mechanical fingertips.

“And you didn’t think to tell us that sooner?” MacCready scoffed.

“The name ‘Bull’ rang a few bells, and I had to think it over,” Nick responded.

“Beantown?” Rhiannon furrowed her brows, “That’s right by Oberland Station.”

“And where you got radiation sickness,” Simon added.

“We can probably get some Minuteman support.” Rhiannon continued, not paying Simon’s comment any mind, “After all, I  _ am _ their general.”

“These jerks ain’t that tough,” Lilith interrupted. “We can handle them, we just gotta be smart about it.”

“We’ll go in there, show them we mean business, and...” Travis’s outburst lost a bit of steam as it went on, “And then we can bring Vadim back, and everything will be okay. Right?”

“That’s the plan,” Lily agreed.

“I’ll... I’ll get a gun and meet you at the gate.” Travis gulped, but squared his shoulders. “We’ll settle this.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that we have explicit confirmation that Simon is Courier Six from Fallout: New Vegas! How many of you caught the clues to that?


	22. Idle Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With power restored to Nuka World, Caldwell meets with the Gun Runners, and the raiders throw a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content, Drug Use
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Shadow Of Everest.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY TWO**

**IDLE HANDS**

* * *

**February 25th, 2288.**

Dusk began to settle upon Nuka World; the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky in shades of deep purples, blues, and black. As shadows deepened and darkness enveloped the park, raiders, traders, and slaves alike began to make their way back to their respective living quarters while they still had some dim haze by which to see.

A lit cigarette barely lighting his face, Gage headed back towards the Fizztop Grille from the Marketplace. The Overboss had gone off to restore power to Nuka World, leaving him to make sure it was known to the denizens of Nuka Town that the Gun Runners’ representative would be arriving tomorrow, and to prepare to be as accommodating as possible… Caldwell had even left some caps for the traders to give ‘free samples’ to the visiting party.

The day had gone smoothly, all things considered. The gangs had actually kept themselves in line, and there were no radio drama style hysterics, or Shakespearean feuds spilling out into the open. If it weren’t for the busy work, Gage would even call it a slow day. So, naturally, that assessment was quickly rectified.

A pair of Disciples headed back towards the mountain, flanking a Harbinger who appeared to be in the middle of an anecdote. Gage observed as they neared a pair of Pack members, leaning against a building and sharing an inhaler of Jet. His eye narrowed; the last thing he needed was this old rivalry to rear its ugly head.

And, lo and behold, the moment the Harbinger came near, one of the Pack made a fake lunge forward, letting out a bark. Without thinking, the Harbinger threw a punch, catching the man with the painted face square in the mouth.

“You’re fucking dead!” The woman in an antlered headpiece yelled, pulling out a knife as her companion clutched his face in pain.

“Hey!” Gage shouted over, “The fuck do you think you’re doin’?”

Instantly the Pack woman shrunk back, sheathing her knife as the Overboss’s second stomped towards the group. Before he could speak, a sharp whistle sounded as the Banshee stepped out of the shadow of the nearest gateway.

“Atlas. Home, _now._ ” The white-haired raider queen’s voice left no room for argument. Without hesitation, the Harbinger stepped away from his companions, heading for their headquarters. The Disciples quickly dispersed as well.

“Now what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Gage rounded on the Banshee, “He ain’t getting away with throwing a punch like that.”

“No, he isn’t,” she responded coolly. “He will be punished.”

“Then I’d better be there to see it.” Gage glared at the Harbinger for a moment before turning back to the two Pack members, “Y’all are lucky that it was me and not the Overboss who caught you. He’d kneecap the lot of you.”

“Sorry, Gage.” The female Pack said, her head hung low as she held her companion.

“Yeah, ‘sorry’ ain’t gonna cut it, especially because your boy here instigated the whole thing,” Gage crossed his arms, “A hundred caps.”

“What?” The man protested in a slightly nasal tone as blood dripped down his face.

“Gage,” Moira interjected, “A broken nose is enough of a lesson, I think.”

“Nope,” Gage shook his head, “Overboss ain’t tolerating any more infighting. A hundred caps to the Overboss, and you have twenty four hours to pay the fine.”

“But I-”

“Lupa, stop.” The woman squeezed her companion’s arm, “Just pay the boss.”

“And as for you,” Gage glared over at the woman, “You pulled a fuckin’ knife. Hand it over.”

After a moment of hesitation, the helmed Pack raider passed the knife over to Gage.

“Don’t let me catch you doin’ this shit again.” Gage warned the pair, “Now get the hell outta here.”

As the Pack members sulked off, Moira reached into her coat and drew out a hundred caps. “Here, for Atlas.”

“That’ll do,” Gage nodded, “You run a pretty small outfit, don’t ya? Must be easier to keep them all in line.”

“Easier when you’ve already made it clear that they fall in line or they fall and don’t get back up again.”

“You ain’t like a lot of raiders I’ve known,” Gage commented, taking a pause to drag from the cigarette that lingered between his lips, “I mean, there’s a ton of people in the Pack, and the Operators, and the Rust Devils, and the Disciples.”

“And how many of them are incompetents with short tempers, oversized egos, and the bare minimum of respect?”

“That’s what I’m gettin’ at,” Gage pulled the cigarette out of his lips and flicked it away, “You run a small outfit of well-trained and extremely loyal raiders. You don’t accept failure or weakness, and you’re selective as all hell in who can join. There’s only one other person I know who runs a gang anything like the way you do.”

Moira laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Really? Who might that be?”

“The Overboss.”

“Oh, please. He’s nothing like me.”

“You _sure_ about that?” Gage asked, some kind of knowing stare burrowing into the Banshee.

Before the Banshee could properly respond, the entire park began to burst with light, blinding raider and slave alike. Moments later sounds of explosions caused panic, until discovering the source: brightly colored showers of sparks rained down over Nuka World.

“He fuckin’ did it. He got the power back on.” Gage grinned, “Years of work… finally fuckin’ paid off.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Moira muttered, watching the fireworks burst into the darkening sky.

“Didn’t think he could do it?” Gage asked, the grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I had my doubts,” she admitted, crossing her arms. “Figured all that pride and senseless violence was enough to keep him in his throne. Comforting to know he can actually back it up.”

“I wouldn’t’ve let him keep the job if he wasn’t competent.” Gage shrugged.

“Hm.” Moira turned to look back at Gage curiously. “From all the stories, and all I’ve seen, it sounds to me like you’re the real brains of Nuka World. Why aren’t _you_ Overboss?”

“Being in charge is having one big target on your back,” Gage responded, meeting her gaze, “I prefer to be the man _behind_ the man in charge. That way I can help steer things in a direction that’ll benefit me. And usually everyone else too. Because I ain’t _stupid_ like most fuckin’ raiders. People either want too much or too little. Gotta find that balance, y’know?”

“Truer words were never spoken,” Moira agreed with a nod. “Witch and I argued for days before he put me in charge of our little operation.”

“Sounds like a story,” Gage replied, watching as the last of the fireworks faded off into the night.

“I’ll let Witch regale you.” The Banshee smirked.

“Right.” Gage drew out the word, “I gotta get back to the Fizztop. Overboss’ll wanna talk shop, and I think we need to arrange some kind of celebration for getting the power back online.”

“Well, send him my compliments,” Moira said, with a mock salute. “Goodnight, Gage.”

“Yeah, g’night Banshee.” Gage nodded, heading off towards the man-made mountain in the distance.

* * *

**February 26th, 2288.**

“Boss!”

Caldwell cracked an eye open and rolled out of bed at the sound of Harvey’s voice coming through his radio system. Grumbling all the way, the Overboss flipped the necessary switches and grabbed the receiver.

“Uhh… boss? You busy? It’s-”

“I know who it is Harvey. You’d better have a good reason for waking me.” Caldwell growled into the device in his hand.

“The Gun Runners are approaching, Overboss, sir,” Harvey’s voice shook; the courage it had taken to signal his boss withered in an instant, “One of the late night traders that came in said-”

“‘Approaching.’” Caldwell repeated, “You mean they’re not _here_ yet?”

“I just thought you’d… uhhh, wouldn’t want to keep them waiting at the gate. With that song playing on repeat and all.”

Caldwell paused for a moment, “Hmm. Thank you for informing me.”

“Yes sir, sorry again for disturbing you, sir.” Harvey apologized again before a burst of static and a click signaled the connection’s close.

“You should give him a reward or something,” Scarlett said sleepily from Caldwell’s bed as the Overboss began to dress himself, “He’s been diligent and useful… and didn’t he make those suggestions about your deathclaw punching glove?”

“Maybe a promotion of sorts is in order.” Caldwell said noncommittally as he pulled the zipper up his old Brotherhood officer’s jumpsuit, “I’ll think about it.”

“I’m just saying.” Scarlett yawned and stretched.

“You seem a peculiar judge of character, seeing as you're so tightly bound up with the Banshee,” Caldwell retorted as he tugged on a pair of baggy pair of athletic pants to wear over the jumpsuit.

“I like spending time with the Banshee,” Scarlett replied breezily. She began to reach around for her clothing, discarded by the bed.

“Interesting…” Caldwell turned slowly towards the raider queen, “And why, may I ask, do you enjoy spending time with her? Not a _hostile_ question, but a _curious_ one.”

Scarlett searched for the right words, pausing the hunt for her dress. “Because she treats me like an equal.”

“Hmm.” Caldwell didn’t push the topic further as he pulled his long coat over his shoulders, “I imagine I’ll see you at some point tonight during the celebrations, yes?”

“And _after_ , if you’re lucky.” Scarlett finally located her dress. Once she’d pulled it on, she planted a kiss to the corner of Caldwell’s mouth and then left him to his preparations.

* * *

_“What if there was a place with all the zip of Nuka Cola?”_

“Maybe now that the power’s back online, we can finally find a way to shut that fuckin’ song off.” Gage grumbled as he took a couple drags from a cigarette.

“God willing.” Caldwell nodded in agreement, as the rumbling in the distance grew louder and louder.

As he understood, the Gun Runners were from the far west, maybe even from the same area Caesar’s Legion had come from. Apparently they had started as some kind of raider gang, but found a Pre-War weapon manufacturing plant, and went legit. Several years ago, two of their main competitors fell into some… trouble with the NCR, which only solidified the Guns Runners as the premier arms dealers of the Wasteland.

“Holy shit, boss,” Gage blinked twice as the caravan thundered closer, “Are those trucks?!”

Pulling out a pair of binoculars, Caldwell scanned the horizon. Sure enough, three large military transport trucks rolled over the arid expanse of land towards them. The truck in the middle seemed to carry the bulk of supplies, and the two trucks flanking it carried armed guards.

“Good eye, Gage.” Caldwell smirked.

After another few minutes, the trucks rolled up towards the gate. Four of the guards stepped out of their trucks, two of them grabbing a box and two of them flanking their superior. While the guards were wearing suits of heavy combat armor, the man in charge wore a suit vest and tie, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a widow’s peak, and his muttonchop beard appeared to have been recently trimmed.

“Overboss Caldwell,” The man greeted extending his arm to shake the raider’s, “Moriarty Gowan Kilmister, at your service.”

“A please to meet you, Mr. Kilmister. Come, let’s talk business,” Caldwell nodded as he shook the dealer’s hand. The group walked slowly towards the Fizztop Grille, Caldwell and Kilmister in front, Gage and Kilmister’s bodyguards trailing behind.

“Tell me about this set-up of yours, Overboss,” Kilmister looked around at the light and sounds of the Pre-War amusement park, “It seems quite the place.”

“Indeed it is,” Caldwell grinned, “There are seven major raider gangs residing within the whole of the park. My predecessor united three of them to take this section, Nuka Town, but decided to sit on his iron throne and do nothing. After I ascended to his former position, I put the train back on track. Around you is the product of months of progress and hard work.”

“Interesting.” Kilmister responded, eyeing a collared slave as they carried a bundle of supplies to the market, “Tell me about the members of this coalition you’ve formed.”

“On the other side of the market, the Pack have made their home,” Caldwell pointed to his left as they passed Cola Cars, “They’re what you may call… beast masters. Taming wild creatures to fight for them.”

“Hmm. Intriguing.”

“Up ahead, we’ll be passing through the territory of the Operators,” Caldwell pointed ahead, “Their focus is one I’m sure you could agree with: making money. They prefer long range weaponry and stealth, making them a valuable asset to my cause.

“Past the Operators, are the Disciples and the Harbingers. The Disciples are bloodthirsty killers, and revel in violence. The Harbingers, our newest asset, are small in number, but exceptional assassins.”

“More so than the Operators?” Kilmister asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The Operators utilize subterfuge and infiltration, and when it comes time to kill, a well-placed shot from a sniper rifle,” Caldwell elaborated, “When the Harbingers hunt a target, you will simply not see them until they’ve a knife in your neck.”

“Fascinating,” The gun runner smirked, “It does well to have options.”

“Indeed,” Caldwell agreed as they passed a large statue of the Nuka World mascots, Cappy and Bottle, “The Rust Devils are among our number as well, brilliant scavengers who construct robots to bolster their numbers. In fact, they were working on methods to bring the carcasses of Pre-War vehicles back to life.”

“What a coincidence,” Kilmister chuckled, “I’m sure a reasonable man such as yourself can make an offer for a copy of the schematics we have on the subject.”

“The Court of Murder have yet to truly find their identity… they were a collection of smaller gangs that only recently came together under a single banner,” Caldwell continued, “And lastly… the Doomed. They are _my_ gang, my iron fist, my eyes and ears.”

“Ah yes,” Kilmister nodded, “It’s always important to keep a group of loyal pets in the event of a schism.”

“Exactly.” Caldwell led the group through Disciple territory and to the lift, “When herding beasts like these, it’s good to have extra hands.”

The group stopped before the lift, Caldwell, Kilmister, and one of his bodyguards stepping aboard. The trio ascended to the Fizztop Grille, leaving the others to take the next ride up. Once in the Overboss’s chambers, Caldwell took a seat at the long table he hosted his inner council, taking a cigar for himself and offering one to his guest.

“Thank you,” Kilmister accepted the gift with a grin, “Now… I hear you’re planning an invasion upon the Commonwealth? We certainly have the tools that will help with that; a wide variety of weaponry, the best of the west, unmatched by anything… or anyone.”

“Anyone?” Caldwell raised an eyebrow, “Even the Brotherhood of Steel?”

“Even the Brotherhood of Steel,” Kilmister affirmed.

“Excellent…” Caldwell grinned as Gage and the rest of Kilmister’s bodyguards arrived, “Because that, my friend, is our main opposition at the moment.”

“Oh, you’re gonna love these, then.” Kilmister rose from his seat, walking over to the case carried by his bodyguards. Reaching within, the arms dealer deposited a large rifle with coils running along the barrel upon the table. “This, my friend, is gauss rifle… the pinnacle of Pre-War death dealing. It uses magnetic induction to propel its payload at incredible speed, allowing it to punch through Power Armor like it was paper.”

Caldwell stood and circled the table, appraising the weapon before him. If this weapon was truly as powerful as the Gun Runner claimed…

“And,” Kilmister continued, depositing a similar weapon next to the first, “We have an… alternate version, one used by the Pre-War soldiers of Alaska. Unlike the first gauss rifle, this one uses a hand crank to charge, rather than holding down the trigger. It still has the same devastating effect, though this variant is better suited for a sniper.”

“Hmm.” Caldwell lifted the Alaskan gauss rifle and walked towards the window, peering through the scope.

“Both are modifiable. They even support silencers, if you can believe that, but in the case of our first sample, it makes the weapon rather bulky. Are you impressed?”

“ _Very_.” Caldwell replied, returning the rifle to the table.

“Well now.” Kilmister’s face broke into a sinister smile, “It sounds like it’s time to make a deal. In exchange for our continued support in arming your men with our wide selection of guns and ammo, we will require a fortified factory of sorts to produce our weaponry, and that is non-negotiable. We will insist that any raw materials we require be provided, and that any and all storefronts we decide to open will do so with your assistance… and that your people do not interfere with our operations. Lastly, a sum of caps must be paid to cover assorted costs related to these endeavors, including the purchasing of the weapons, ammo, and any schematics that you presently desire.”

Caldwell took a long drag from his cigar as he considered the arms dealer’s words.

“Gage, bring me the map.”

“On it, boss.” Gage grabbed the map of the Commonwealth from the umbrella stand and unfurled it onto the table.

“Right about here is the Saugus Ironworks foundry,” Caldwell pointed to the indicated location, “Currently, it is under the control of a group of pyromaniacal raiders who call themselves the Forged. Will it suit your purposes if we take it?”

“I’ll have to tour the facility myself to be certain… but a _foundry_ …” Kilmister scratched his sideburns, “I must say, I’m impressed. Oftentimes we’re forced to convert a warehouse to our purposes.”

“Then we shall take it for you.” Caldwell responded, “As for the rest of your conditions, I want it in writing and blood that you will not sell your wares to our enemies. Only then, will I accept your terms.”

Kilmister paced for a moment, puffing from his cigar as he considered.

“Deal.”

“Excellent.” Caldwell’s face broke into a wicked grin.

* * *

“Seriously? You’re not going to tell me anything?” Ellison lay across the table in the Harbinger’s clinic-room, hanging upside-down as he watched Stitches organizing the contents of her safe. “Your first date in _years_ and you won’t tell your favorite brother a single detail?”

“You’re my only brother,” Stitches muttered, wondering when Brownstone had given her so many different flavors of mentats.

“This is torture. I’m being tortured. You’re literally torturing me.”

“That’s not the proper use of ‘literally.’” Stitches rolled her eyes and began to sort the grape and orange flavors into stacks. Her head tilted suddenly, and she sighed. “Safe’s open, stay in the doorway.”

“...How did you hear me?” Witch stood in the door, baffled that his soundless footsteps had been detected.

“I hear everything. Keep out while I have chems in the open.”

“Okay, Jesus.” Witch rolled his eyes, and pulled a slip of paper from a pocket. “I just came by to _remind you_ that I’m cleared for weed. And I even have a note from Brownstone, so if you don’t mind giving me the shit you took, a _month_ ago-”

“Give me that.” Stitches crossed the room and grabbed the note, unfolding it and reading it a few times. Finally, she sighed and moved back to her stash. “Alright, fine. But if the Banshee says anything, you’re not snitching on me.”

“Snitches get Stitches,” Ellison said solemnly, followed by an “Ouch!” as a packet of berry mentats smacked into his face.

“Thank you.” Witch took the package from Stitches as she reluctantly brought it back to him.

“Yeah, whatever. Just open a window.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Witch reminded her with a snide smirk, as he headed for his own private room.

The feather adorned man found his fingers beginning to shake by the time he pulled out the first joint. It wouldn’t be enough for what he needed, but it was something. Quickly putting it between his lips, Witch fumbled for the lighter Brownstone had lent him, and soon had the paper smoldering.

Grabbing his ashtray from beside the bed, Witch inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs, before slowly letting it back out from between his teeth. Settling onto the bed, he took his time with this first joint, savoring the act of smoking it, but reached for a second the moment it had turned to ash. By the time this one was nearly finished, he could feel the effects kicking in, and leaned back against the wall, eyes closing.

“Come on, come on...” Witch pressed against the constraints of his consciousness; they felt more pliable than usual, but it still wasn’t right, still wasn’t the proper state to See as he wanted to. He could feel just the barest touch of his gift, and leaned into it as heavily as he could. It was like pressing against clay; pliable, soft, but still too solid to push past.

He took another hit, trying to stay patient with himself. It would never be as good as the visions he’d received on the harder chems, but whatever he could get, he would take. After another ten minutes, still unable to get quite where he wanted, Witch sat back up and tore into the larger joints he’d bought, pulling one out and lighting up quickly. “Fuck, come _on_.”

He was _so close_ . He thought he could hear a whisper, thought he could see a flash of color he knew was not present in his physical surroundings. His eyelids felt heavy, as was expected, and Witch didn’t fight the urge to close them. He took another hit, and this time, as he let the smoke escape his lips, he heard a voice, too distant to understand, sounding like it was coming through a radio. Yes. _Yes!_

Witch pushed into the sound, the feeling of being present in more than one place, of seeing without his eyes. The Sight revealed nothing, but in his slightly altered state he could feel it around and within him, a thrum in his bones and blood that he knew well. It felt like the warmth of the sun after a long winter, a familiar sensation he’d all but lost after quitting the chems.

Witch took a hit from the joint he still had, realizing he probably should have gone for another of the smaller ones, head already swimming and cloudy, and with about half to go. The Harbinger took his time as he finished smoking and lay back, the whispers and glimpses of color just as maddeningly meaningless, but a little more persistent. That was fine. It was something. It was _Seeing_.

He knew forcing the visions took a lot out of him; even when high off his ass on Jet and Psycho, sorting out any cohesive clarity from the Sight was draining. But it was close to an hour of savoring the feeling of floating and of having this hint of his gift returned, before anything worth pursuing appeared. It was a flash, for just a moment, of Moira, but he would recognize her anywhere.

Witch reached out with his Sight, latching onto the glimpse. Immediately there came the stab of an ice pick headache, even through the numb of his high, but Witch grit his teeth and held on. He was not meant to strain his ability like this.

The image clarified: Moira, standing and looking up at... someone, expression caught between vulnerable curiosity and guarded fear. Half of her face was mottled with bruises, her lip looking like it had only recently been split open, hair in absolute disarray. She looked like hell.

Another stab of pain, fiercer now, but Witch shoved past it, even when he could feel blood running down his lips and chin. His very skull felt like it was rattling, but he continued peering into this fracture of the future.

As he watched, a bloodied hand caressed and then cupped the side of Moira’s face that was not bruised, and then Caldwell leaned in, and kissed her-

“God _damn it_.” Witch’s eyes shot open as he could feel his other nostril begin to run. Thick, hot blood was dripping off his chin and onto his clothing. He reached up and touched his left ear, that hand also coming away with blood. Digging around the stand beside the bed, Witch managed to find an old rag and held it to his nose, wiping his face clean.

After a few minutes, it stopped flowing, and the cannabis eased his pain away again. Witch took a shaking breath, his unfocused mind trying to puzzle out the vision he saw. He knew perfectly well how Moira intended to use the Overboss’s lust against him, but the blood and bruises that decorated them both troubled him.

But he couldn’t think right now; he’d definitely smoked too much, too quickly, and his head hurt if he tried to focus on anything too intently. Witch leaned back against the wall, and shut his eyes again. He’d have to wait and ride out his high, and then... then he could try and make sense of things...

* * *

“Harvey. My office. Now.”

All but throwing his broom as he scrambled towards the Fizztop Grille, Harvey could feel his heart try to break past his ribs and out of his chest.

 _“Well, I guess he’s finally gonna kill me…”_ He thought to himself as he rushed around a Pack hunting party, chanting and howling as they headed towards the nearest gate.

Passing through the territories of the Operators and the Harbingers, Harvey poked the red button to call the lift down to ground level. Pacing as he waited, Harvey tried every calming strategy he’d ever heard. As the lift descended he tried to take ten deep breaths. As he stepped onto the lift and pressed the button, he counted to ten. As the lift carried him up to the Fizztop Grille, he tried to think happy thoughts.

Only for said happy thoughts to die upon seeing the Overboss, hands behind his back, waiting at the top of the lift for him.

“Harvey.”

“Y-you called, sir?” Harvey stammered, stepping off the platform.

“I did,” Caldwell’s voice was stern and even, not necessarily a good sign, “Come in.”

Harvey shuffled in, trying to hide how much his hands shook by hiding them in his pockets. Caldwell began to circle around him like a shark to a wounded seal.

“You served well, even in Colter’s time… and have been an obedient, hard-working servant. However… You’ve been speaking up lately. Acting outside of your station.”

“I’m sorry, Overboss, I’ll-” Harvey stammered before Caldwell’s pacing stopped as he took a sharp turn and stepped into the slave’s face.

“There is only one thing I can do with you.”

Harvey began to sweat, his legs weakening as the Overboss loomed over him, glaring down past his sunglasses.

“Congratulations, Harvey. You’ve been promoted.”

Harvey blinked once, twice, three times as he attempted to process the words he _thought_ he’d heard, “Pardon?”

“You shall become my personal assistant, ensuring that my will is carried out by the workforce. Of course, you are still barred from owning weapons and may still be called upon to carry out menial labours, such as fetching food and drink, but make no mistake, your diligence and loyalty has paid off.” Caldwell began to pace again, “On top of earning wages, you will be raised above the other slaves. They now answer to you as they would any raider… and while you are still below the common raider, they no longer command you. Only I command you now.”

“I… thank you, thank you, Overboss, sir!” Harvey stammered.

“Goliath,” Caldwell called over the grey Super Mutant, who presented a gift basket of sorts, with new clothing, cigars and cigarettes, caps, and bottles of Nuka Quantum, Quartz, and Victory, “Show Harvey to his new quarters.”

As Harvey trailed behind the behemoth, carrying the gift basket with him, the slave couldn’t believe his luck… but… at the same time, he felt as if he was betraying the other slaves by accepting this position. Conflicted and excited, Harvey picked out a bottle of Quantum, opened it, and drank.

* * *

As the sun began its descent, Nuka World came to life. Raiders from every gang came together to celebrate the completed conquest that had been promised somewhere in the realm of a year before. Loudspeakers played music throughout the park, several stations were set up for raiders to purchase booze, and in the middle of everything, Brownstone set up a chem stand to sell his wares to partygoers.

Walking through the streets of Nuka Town, Caldwell soaked in the adulation and the festivities. At last every puzzle piece fell into its place. Months of planning, maintaining the peace, settling disputes, doing the majority of the grunt work in actually taking the parks back… it had finally paid off.

Stopping by the edge of the pond, Caldwell gazed across the expanse of water and towards the Fizztop Grille, the inheritance left by his failed predecessor. Soon they would have to take the next steps. The longer they sat on their laurels, the less likely the peace would hold.

“Having fun, Overboss?”

Caldwell turned his head as Mags approached, slinking into place beside him.

“You could say that,” Caldwell responded, “Finally, the park has been claimed, and we ready ourselves for war. I have never felt this… _alive_ in a very long time. And yet…”

“And yet?”

“A long dead man wars inside me,” The Overboss admitted, “He struggles against my hands, poisons my head with doubts. Tell me, Mags, what have you to tell that ghost?”

“I can speak from personal experience… there's no use in fighting who you are.” Mags stepped between Caldwell and the pond, “You can only either let your nature consume you, fall to booze and chems like the rabble around this place, or you can embrace it. Let it drive you. So, with that in mind, I hope you'll appreciate the earnestness with which I mean this: welcome home, Overboss.”

Before Caldwell could reply, there was a snuffling sound, followed by a splash. Mags let out a small shriek as the back of her clothes were soaked through. As she leaped aside, it revealed the luminescent Deathclaw that was eagerly lapping at the cold water.

“Volos. Heel.” The Banshee’s cold voice carried over to them. The Deathclaw’s head lifted, dribbling saliva and icy water from his jaws and onto Mags’ hair, shoulders, and then shoes, as the massive creature returned to his mistress.

“I am _so_ sorry, Mags.” Moira stepped around the pond properly now, a hand on her creature’s side. Her smile and the false innocence in her voice betrayed the Banshee’s lack of remorse. She had wiped away the smudged war paint that usually streaked around her eyes, instead replaced by dark eyeshadow and sharply winged eyeliner. Her lips were colored a shade of crimson that matched the tight, slightly shimmering dress that she wore beneath a black leather jacket, left open. “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

Caldwell was exceedingly thankful for the sunglasses he wore, even at night, because they masked the fact that he was _staring_ , his eyes shifting up and down the Banshee, from her piercing eyes to the hem of her dress. The red fabric was cut low in the front, the expanse of Moira’s neck and collar on shameless display, and it hugged the curves of her hips in a way none of her other clothing did. The thought of what lie _underneath_ crossed his mind more than once.

“Perhaps you didn’t train him well enough… or you did.” The Overboss was quietly grateful that his voice remained even. At this, Moira winked, her smile shifting into more of a smirk.

With no indication that she was listening to any of the conversation, the Operator’s mouth hung open in shock and rage as she stood dripping wet, glaring at the Banshee. With a huff, she turned towards the Parlor, to seek a change of clothes. On her way, Mags passed by Mason, who’d found a seat near a campfire to glare at the Banshee and the Deathclaw she’d taken from him.

“I’d’ve trained it better than that cunt ever could,” The Pack Alpha called over to Mags as she passed, keeping his voice low enough that the Overboss and the Banshee could not hear. As Caldwell and Moira continued their conversation, Mason settled back into the patio chair he’d claimed with a dirty wastelander in his hand and a bottle of moonshine by his side.

“Enjoying yourself?” Caldwell asked Moira as he stood with his hands behind his back.

“I just arrived,” she replied, stroking Volos along his glowing scales. “I had some business to attend to first. And I had to get the mutants occupied with something while most of us went out.”

“Yes, of course,” The Overboss nodded, “Have they been particularly restless?”

“Some more than others.” Moira now took Mags’ place, leaning against the pond beside the Overboss. “When we have the Red Rocket, they’ll be happier. It’s all of this staying inside, and _not_ senselessly smashing everyone who isn’t one of us that’s getting them so tightly wound.”

“Then fixing that Red Rocket will become a priority,” Caldwell responded, “I’d like to… personally insure that you’ll be satisfied with the results, so I will be working alongside whatever work crews are sent.”

“Your personal touch is appreciated.” Moira tilted her head, smile widening a fraction.

“Perhaps we can discuss the finer details soon.” A grin threatened to creep across Caldwell’s face, his eyes struggling to stay on her’s.

“If that would please you,” the Banshee replied softly. She rested her hand on his arm, briefly. “For now, perhaps I’ll look around and see what this celebration has to offer. I’ll find you later this evening.”

“Very well.” Caldwell nodded politely, “I’ll be around.”

“Should you decide to retire early, I shouldn’t be hard to find.” The banshee gave Volos a scratch behind his horn, and led him off into the crowd.

* * *

“Need a light?”

Gage nearly dropped his pack of cigarettes, startled by the sudden appearance of Witch at his side.

“Jesus. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” The Harbinger offered his lighter apologetically.

Gage shrugged and accepted the light, “Yeah, whatever. Just… try and warn a guy when you’re gonna pull shit like that.”

Witch lit a cigarette of his own, placing it between his lips. “Yeah, won’t happen again. I’m just used to sneaking around is all.”

“Yeah,” Gage’s face illuminated as he took a drag, “Y’all are like ghosts.”

“Heh. Have you met Ghost yet?” Witch couldn’t help but smirk as he leaned against the wall, elbow nearly touching Gage’s. Gage stared blankly back at him.

“You got a guy in your crew named Ghost? Jesus Christ…”

“ _She’s_ the real quiet one,” Witch confirmed with a nod. “So, what’re you doing lurking in the corners? Not much of a party guy?”

“Taking a break,” Gage sighed, his face glowing again in the red light of his smoldering cigarette, “Had to break up a fight between Brownstone and Lizzie. They got into it about… some sciencey shit about chemicals and chems, I don’t fuckin’ know. But it was about to get ugly as the man himself.”

“Christ. How much does Caldwell pay you to be his bouncer?” Witch scoffed.

“Enough,” Gage answered vaguely, “Does the Banshee pay _you_ enough?”

“Yeah, in food, shelter, clean water. And caps, when we got ‘em. I’d do it for free if I had to.”

“Damn.” Gage whistled, “The hell she’d do for you to get _that_ kinda loyalty?”

“A lot. A _helluva_ lot.” Witch took a long drag from his cigarette before continuing. “She and I have been together for... shit, for thirteen years now.”

“What’s the story, then?” Gage asked, flicking away his spent cigarette, “Banshee mentioned that you’d been running together for awhile the other day.”

Witch shifted, almost uncomfortably, but shrugged. “I saw she needed some help, lent her a hand. We were both alone, figured we could use each other, and uh, life took us where it took us. Then she... she helped get me clean when the chems nearly did me in. So... yeah.”

“Shit, man,” Gage hummed, “That’s a lot.”

“Banshee’s family.” Witch flicked away the butt of his cigarette as it burned down. “I’d kill for her, die for her. Whatever she asked. And I know she’d do the same for me. Not many of us can say that.”

Gage only nodded in response, silence settling between them as the chaos of the party raged around them.

“You wanna get out of here?” Witch broke the quiet after a moment.

“Fuck yeah.”

* * *

After another hour and a half, Caldwell had enough of the intoxicated rabble of raiders that continued to party hard. Weaving his way through the crowds, the Overboss sought out the white hair of the Banshee. He found her easily enough; trying to talk the Queen of Hearts out of buying another drink.

“But Moiiira…” Scarlett whined as the Banshee pulled her away, “I-I’m fine, I-”

“You’ve had enough,” Moira insisted, though her voice was soft. “Remember the last time you drank too much?”

“Your really pretty friend took me home?”

“And you repainted the outside of the Parlor with your lunch.”

“But… I didn’t eat paint.”

“Yeah,” Moira sighed, shaking her head, “You’ve had more than enough.”

“Ahem.” Caldwell coughed into his fist.

“Overboss, heyyy…” Scarlett turned slowly, swaying back and forth, “Ready for… for…”

“You’re drunk. You need to go home and rest,” Caldwell deadpanned.

“Come on,” Moira snapped her fingers, and a passing Harbinger came to her side. “Diaz here will get you home. Diaz, take Volos back as well.”

“Yes, Banshee,” the man replied, gently taking Scarlett by the arm and leading her towards Kiddie Kingdom. With a huff, the Deathclaw followed behind them.

“I plan on retiring soon,” Caldwell turned to the white-haired raider, “If you wish to discuss the details of settling the Red Rocket, you can accompany me there.”

“That sounds acceptable.” Moira nodded. “Lead the way, _Boss_.”

Without another word, Caldwell headed back to the Fizztop Grille, the Banshee trailing just behind. Neither noticed the way both Mags and Mason followed their path with narrowed eyes. When they reached the lift, the Banshee stepped on first and leaned against the railing.

“So, power is on. How much longer do you suppose it will be before we can take the Rocket? A week? Less?”

“There are reports of heavy Gunner presence in the area,” Caldwell responded, stepping on and pressing the button. He continued as the lift rose, “First and foremost, they need to be eliminated so that work crews can attend to the station.”

“That I will be happy to undertake as soon as possible.” The Banshee’s lip curled in disgust. “The less Gunners in this world, the better.”

“Tomorrow then,” Caldwell suggested as the lift reached the mouth of his den, “I’m eager to test some of our new weapons on living targets.”

“Tomorrow?” Moira raised an eyebrow, a smirk now tugging the corners of her mouth. “It’s already shaping up to be quite a late night, and I have no doubt many of our people will be nursing hangovers come morning.”

“The day after, then.” Caldwell shrugged, as he headed for the bar to grab a bottle of Quantum, “Want anything?”

“Yes.” Moira waited a moment longer before following him in. She crossed the room and leaned against the bar on her forearms. “What do you have?”

“ _Everything_.” Caldwell responded.

“Hmm... That one.” Moira pointed to a glowing golden bottle.

“Victory,” Caldwell hummed as he grabbed the bottle and passed it over, “Good choice.”

“I do tend to make those.” The Banshee grinned before taking a swig. “Better than I expected.”

“Come, have a seat,” Caldwell gestured towards the couches of his sitting area, “We’ll talk.”

Moira followed Caldwell to the couches, taking a seat beside the Overboss on one. “Is there much more to discuss?”

“Not particularly,” Caldwell shrugged, taking a swig of his Quantum, “If we go to slaughter Gunners in a fortnight, you should perhaps think of who you plan on bringing with you. Those capable in combat, yet those you wouldn’t mind leaving at the Rocket to hold the position.”

“I have ideas,” the Banshee murmured, sipping from her Victory. “I’ll have to speak to my people and get their thoughts on the matter as well, but some positions I am certain of.”

“After the position is held, we can start sending in work crews,” Caldwell continued, “I suppose you’ll have more to say once we’ve seen the space, but what do you expect out of your new territory?”

“A place for my mutants to patrol, outdoors and away from the crowds of the other gangs. A place for potential new recruits to live and be trained. We could stand to expand a little, but I will not sacrifice my need for quality just to grow our numbers with haste.”

“Fair,” Caldwell nodded, with another long drink. Moira mirrored the action, then set her bottle aside and ran a hand through her hair.

“And restoring it will be something to do before we head to the Commonwealth. It’ll keep the Harbingers occupied.”

“Of course, I will be personally ensuring the quality of work is up to your standards,” Caldwell set the unfinished drink aside on an end table.

“And that is appreciated.” Moira inclined her head towards him. “You have been more than gracious to us since we arrived. I feel our deal has been mutually beneficial, and I hope you feel the same.”

“Indeed it has,” Caldwell turned towards her, “My Doomed have learned a fair bit from your teachings. It’ll prove instrumental in the invasion to come.”

“All of the Commonwealth at our feet. It’ll be a beautiful thing to see.”

“Half as much as you appear to be tonight,” Caldwell responded, a smirk ghosting across his face.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve had the opportunity to wear this dress,” Moira replied after only a beat of pause, lifting her cola to her lips once more. “I figured tonight would be appropriate.”

“And when was the last time you could wear it?” Caldwell asked, genuinely curious.

“When I had to do business with certain clients that liked to pretend they were better than drifters just because they had a few more caps.” She took another drink. “They all had the same vices, though.”

“Indeed,” Caldwell replied, slinging an arm around the back of the couch.

“Men in power, or with wealth, like to imagine they’re special.” Moira wore a smirk of her own. “They’re all wrong. They are still just men.”

Caldwell bristled slightly, feeling the sting of her words, but remained as stoic as possible.

“All men have vices,” Moira continued, sensing the brief tension in the Overboss. “All men have needs, and wants, fears, hopes. All men bleed, and all men die.”

“And what would you call my vice? My fear? My hope?” Caldwell’s hand drifted ever closer to the Banshee, seeking her far shoulder.

“You indulge in chems, in sex, and sometimes in alcohol, when those do not suffice.” Moira met his gaze, tipping his sunglasses with one finger so she could look into his eyes. “If I told you your fears, your hopes… you might lose that short temper of yours.”

“Hmm,” Caldwell reached up to set his sunglasses aside, then caressed Moira’s face, “Tell me, will you indulge me, tonight?”

The Banshee blinked, leaning away from him. Yet when she spoke next, she sounded merely curious. “Indulge you how?”

“I want you,” Caldwell admitted, leaning forward a little as he asked again, “Will you indulge me?”

“You _want_ me?” Moira raised an eyebrow, her smirk returning. “How flattering. And what happens if I do indulge you, hmm? Do I become one of your little playthings, like Mags? Like Scarlett? Will you feel like you’ve won me somehow?”

Caldwell shrugged, “Mags and Scarlett… _they_ approached _me_ , at first. Then, later, I presented them this offer, which they could take or leave. An offer that you can take or leave tonight.”

“The problem, James, is that from what I hear, you like to mix pleasure and business. Sex with you is a political move. I don’t play those games.”

“Mags fucked me because she _thought_ it’d get her favor. Scarlett fucked me because she _thought_ it’d get her Kiddie Kingdom.” Caldwell responded evenly, “I don’t mix sex and politics for the same reason you probably don’t.”

The Banshee seemed to be considering her options, eyes either searching his face, or tracing some series of mental calculations. Finally, she spoke, tone guarded. “I am not a prize. I am not a toy. And there are those that would not be happy to learn that I shared your bed.”

“If that is your decision,” Caldwell tilted his head upwards, “Then I will abide until the next time I ask… or until you come to me.”

“I didn’t say no.”

At this Caldwell raised his eyebrows in surprise, “Then what are you suggesting?”

“A straightforward exchange. An exchange of equals. Pleasure for pleasure. You please me, and I return the favor.”

“Those terms are acceptable.” Caldwell grinned, “But you’re wearing too much.”

“I thought you liked the dress,” Moira remarked, though she shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it onto another couch.

“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to it,” Caldwell slid out of his coat and threw it over the back of the couch they occupied, “It looks too good on you to be ruined.”

“Then take it off and put it somewhere safe.”

Caldwell’s hands finally found Moira’s body, resting on her hips and pulling her closer. They slid around and up her back, tracing soft circles on the exposed skin between her shoulders. Moira’s breath caught for a moment, her skin prickling with goosebumps under his touch. With a small, smug smile, the Overboss pushed the straps of the dress down her shoulders, then guided Moira’s arms through.

There was a slight tremble to Moira’s breathing now, which Caldwell could feel as her mouth found his neck, lips brushing over his pulse point. His fingers trailed beck down her spine and unzipped the dress, allowing him to slide it down her body and off, revealing she’d chosen to wear nothing beneath it, apart from a knife strapped to her thigh. The Banshee took the liberty of removing that, setting it on the coffee table between the two couches. After a moment, the Overboss gently folded the dress and placed it beside the weapon.

“You’re still overdressed,” Moira murmured into his ear, before her teeth softly began to worry the lobe.

Wordlessly, Caldwell grabbed the zipper at the front of his jumpsuit, pulling it down halfway before reluctantly pulling away from the Banshee to slip out of it, and the pants he’d worn over them. Moira turned to sit sideways on the couch so the Overboss was now between her legs.

Though her eyes were already dark, this close Caldwell could see her pupils had dilated like a hunting cat, eager for the kill. Moira rested her hands on his cheeks, pulling Caldwell’s face towards hers, before guiding him lower.

 _“A lovely power play…”_ Caldwell thought to himself, _“I suppose I can indulge her for now.”_

The Overboss started slowly, teasingly. His tongue barely played a part in bringing pleasure to the Banshee, and he entered her with only a single finger, which he pumped slowly, gently. After a few moments, when he felt her impatience grow, he decided to stop playing games and traced more intricate patterns with his tongue, a second finger slipping into her.

He was rewarded immediately with a breathless gasp that built into a moan, her fingernails scraping against the back of his scalp. Moira bit down hard on her lower lip and fought the urge to rock her hips, letting Caldwell take care of her as she hooked her legs around his shoulders.

Caldwell continued his work, even as Moira’s nails poked and pierced his bald head. Every so often he would slow down for a moment or two before quickening or upping the intensity of his fingers or tongue… or both. She’d spent the evening until now toying with him, so he’d toy with her right back. It was like an unseen battle of wits was hidden in everything they did, and every breath they took.

“I’m close,” the Banshee moaned after another minute of the Overboss’s ministrations. Her eyes had closed by now, head pressed into the arm of the couch as she could feel her legs starting to tremble.

“Then come for me, Moira.” Caldwell responded, pulling his head away for a moment, but picking up the slack with his hands. His thumb found her clit, and it wasn’t long before she reached her peak, and came not with a scream, as might be expected of one called Banshee, but with a hiss of breath between her teeth, more in line with her subtler nature. She held Caldwell’s head until she’d ridden through the high of her pleasure, before Moira released him at last and gently used a foot to push him back. “Good... Good, I’m done...”

“Maybe, but now it’s my turn. ‘Pleasure for pleasure,’ as you said.” Caldwell wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

“So I did.” Moira pushed herself up, and climbed into Caldwell’s lap as he, too, righted himself. One hand brushed along the length of his cock, granting barely the ghost of a touch, and a smirk pulled at her lips. “I am a woman of my word.”

“Good. I am a man of mine.” Caldwell responded, his hands trailing up the lengths of her thighs until they found rest on the Banshee’s hips. Her pale skin, he noted, bore several scars across her sides and chest, remnants of fights long ago endured and won. As he admired her, Moira shifted forward, and guided Caldwell into her, her head tipping back slightly as she lowered herself slowly onto his length.

“And just what would please you?” Moira asked once she trusted herself to speak.

“Fuck me good,” Caldwell responded, a smirk crawling across his lips.

“Oh, I intend to.” The Banshee matched his wicked smirk, and set a rough pace immediately, riding him hard, her hands clutching his shoulders to steady herself.

The Overboss leaned into the Banshee, wrapping an arm around her back as he kissed her chest lightly. His other hand cupped her breast, his thumb running over the nipple. Moira released a soft sigh as her nails bit into his skin.

“Having fun yet?” Caldwell hummed as he began to pound upwards into her.

“I’ve been having fun all evening,” Moira purred. She leaned in to nip at his earlobe again. “Are you?”

“Yes,” Caldwell thrust once more before wrapping his arms around Moira, turning and laying her down on the couch below him, “But I think a change of scenery is in order.”

A breathless laugh escaped the Banshee, and she arched her hips upwards, eager for him to continue. “Then fuck me good.”

She didn’t have to wait long before Caldwell began anew, only a few strokes of slow, deep movements before he matched the pace she’d set in their previous position. Moira matched his thrusts as best she could, rolling her hips with each one.

A hand slinking back behind Moira’s head, Caldwell grabbed a fistful of hair and pulled Moira’s lips to his. There was a moment of tense surprise, but with another thrust from the Overboss, the Banshee moaned into his mouth and kissed him back hungrily.

“Where will you want me to finish?” Caldwell breathed into her.

“As long as you pull out, I don’t give a shit,” she answered, a hand lifting to his cheek to drag him back into the kiss.

“Fair enough.”

With that, Caldwell pushed deeper into her, thrusting harder as one hand journeyed across her body like a nomad in the desert while the other remained tangled in her hair. After a few more moments of moaning and breathing into one another, Moira let out a sound that was nearly a whine.

“Bite me,” she murmured against his lips. “Hard.”

At her request, Caldwell’s mouth moved away from hers, his teeth finding her collar, and then her neck. A pleased shiver ran through Moira with each bite, and her back arched again, head pressing into the couch cushions.

“James,” Moira whispered after a few seconds, lost to the pleasure that was about to overwhelm her, “James, I’m close.”

Caldwell’s mind flashed back to another time, another place, younger versions of himself in a Vault, in the town of Megaton, under the stars, in a Brotherhood of Steel office…

Driven by something resembling rage, Caldwell’s thrusts landed harder than before, and his teeth sunk into Moira’s neck, just barely breaking the skin. This time, the Banshee screamed as she came, her nails digging into his shoulders, and dragging down his back, leaving fierce red streaks behind.

Once Moira had screamed to signal her climax, and he felt her clench around him, Caldwell pulled out and moved forward, still holding her hair while his other hand quickly stroked his length for the short seconds before he erupted, leaving white streaks across her face and neck.

Moira’s chest heaved as she reached up and wiped his cum from her face, some of the makeup she’d worn around her eyes coming away as well as she glared up at him. “Really? My face?”

“You said ‘as long as you pull out, I don’t give a shit,’” Caldwell replied with a shrug, “I pulled out, and you said nothing about your face.”

“Fair’s fair,” she muttered, looking around for something nearby to clean herself with.

“Here,” Caldwell found a dishrag nearby, throwing it over to the Banshee.

“Thank you.” Moira carefully sat up, wiping herself clean. “That was… that was good.”

“I’m glad you thought so, I was of the same opinion,” Caldwell smirked as he grabbed his unfinished bottle of Quantum, taking a long swig, “Great minds think alike.”

“Yet fools seldom differ,” Moira finished the quotation, then grabbed her own unfinished cola. “But I’ll take the compliment.”

Caldwell clinked his bottle with hers before taking another drink and setting the nearly empty bottle back where he’d taken it from. “I doubt you intend to stay, but the offer is open if you desire to.”

Moira considered this, leaning back against the armrest of the couch and taking a long sip of her Victory. “I’ll need to head home before it gets light; much easier to sneak around at night without the risk of someone seeing me. But… I can linger for a few hours. I just didn’t take you for the ‘spend the night with me’ type, Caldwell.”

“I’m full of surprises,” Caldwell responded, gathering his clothes from the floor, “If you choose to stay… there is a more discreet path to the bottom of the mountain I could direct you to.”

The Banshee got to her feet slowly, though her legs nearly gave once she had. “If you’re certain it’s inconspicuous... I might take up your offer.”

“I am certain,” The Overboss confirmed, “And I can guarantee that if the Doomed happen to see you… they won’t tell a soul on pain of death.”

“Good. The last thing I need are more enemies.” Moira looked around until she spied the bed. Making her way to it, she sat on the edge. “Are you tired?”

“Why do you ask?” Caldwell set his clothes aside on a chair near the bed.

“That round on the couch was good.” Moira smirked. “We can do better.”

“Oh, yes we can.” Caldwell matched her grin as he gently pushed Moira to the mattress.

* * *

**February 27th, 2288.**

The morning light was still a hazy shade of gray as Witch carefully made his way around the back of the Harbinger’s encampment. He’d had to move more slowly this morning to maintain his usual stealth, a slight limp hindering his pace. One side of his neck was covered in dark bite marks, and it was obvious he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. But he felt satisfied, and last night's pleasure was worth being a bit sore now. As long as the Omens and the Banshee didn’t see him like this, he had a chance of escaping without any comments.

As he rounded the corner to the window to his quarters, he stopped, spying Moira as she was carefully opening the window to her own. Her leather jacket was tied around her waist, hair a complete mess, small bite marks- not nearly as obvious or vibrant as his own, but much more numerous- peppered across her neck and shoulders, and the makeup she’d had on the night before was completely gone. Catching sight of his movement, she turned, and their eyes locked as they took in one another’s disheveled appearances.

There was a good ten seconds of silence, where both Harbingers stared at each other, realizing they’d clearly had very similar evenings. After a moment, Witch nodded, and Moira nodded. Witch flashed a finger gun, and Moira just nodded again. After another pause, they both opened their windows and disappeared inside their respective rooms, silently vowing to keep one another’s secrets, as always.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, Moriarty Gowan Kilmister is based on one of my D&D characters.
> 
> {I went back and forth on if Moira was going to sleep with Caldwell now, or totally blueball him and keep him on a string. But uh... she was already in so deep she just went "fuck it" and then did.}


	23. Keep Moving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After rescuing Vadim from raiders, Rhiannon and her friends head to Bunker Hill to pick up supplies. Meanwhile, The Castle receives a visitor, and Caldwell and Moira deal with the fallout of the previous evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Andrew Stockdale.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY THREE**

**KEEP MOVING**

* * *

**February 25th, 2288.**

“So… this is it…” Travis let out a shaky breath as they approached the front doors of the Beantown Brewery building, “Odds are, if they’ve got Vadim, he’s inside. We’re… we’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Just… keep a cool head, okay?” Rhiannon assured him, “Don’t think about it too much.”

“Okay, right. Sure. Yeah.” Travis nodded rapidly.

“Let’s kick some ass and get our bartender back.” Lily rested her bat on her shoulder, fingers drumming the handle.

“Any… uhh… any… last-minute advice?” Travis asked meekly, “I’ve… never done _anything_ like this before.”

“Something tells me there’s _a lot_ of things you haven’t done before,” MacCready taunted, giving Lilith a nudge in hopes she’d laugh. All it earned him was a scoff.

“We go in first, you keep behind us and watch our backs,” Rhiannon gave MacCready a sharp glare as she answered the DJ, “It’s all gonna be okay.”

“And don’t point your gun at anything you’re not willing to shoot,” Valentine advised. “That means us.”

“ _Especially_ us,” Simon emphasized.

“Okay, okay, I think the kid gets it,” Piper put a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

“Y-yeah, I got it.” Travis nodded emphatically. “Okay. Let’s uh... let’s go.”

Simon headed towards the front door, slowly turning the handle, “On three.”

“ _On_ three or after-”

“ _On_ three,” The mechanic confirmed with a roll of his eyes, “One… two… three!”

* * *

“Mirelurk _again_ Rupert?”

“Yup, gotta use what we got, because Mirelurk gone bad is an ugly thing.”

“You’ve been saying that for the past month!”

Preston Garvey let out a sigh as he sat down in the mess hall for an evening meal, the argument between their official-unofficial chef and their radio operator echoing around the room. He had to agree with Thomas, Mirelurk had long since worn out its welcome in the Castle’s kitchen. However, Rupert was right about how awful spoilt Mirelurk smelled.

“Colonel Garvey,” A tanned, raven-haired man called as he rushed into the room.

“What is it, Vasco?” Preston asked, rising from the table, abandoning his half-finished Mirelurk cake in the process.

“There’s an older woman here to see the General, or whoever’s in charge. Her words, not mine.”

“Alright,” The colonel let out a tired sigh, “Where is she?”

“We have her in the General’s quarters right now,” Vasco nodded in the indicated direction, beginning to walk as Preston fell into step beside the fairly new recruit.

“What can you tell me about her?”

“Well… she’s really… uhh…” Vasco stammered as he scratched at an old wound behind his ear, “She has a laser musket?”

“Vasco!”

The recruit flinched and came to a halt as they passed by the makeshift clinic, the doctor glaring at him with her hands on her hips, “I told you, if you keep picking at that scar-”

“It’s going to keep bleeding, I know.” Vasco sighed.

“I’ve got it from here,” Preston pat the young man on the arm and continued towards the General’s quarters. Rounding the corner, the Minuteman saw a dark-haired woman in military fatigues with a black military cap talking with a few of the newer recruits. Said recruits were nervously trying to placate the woman, who appeared to be growing impatient until turning to see Preston’s arrival.

“You’re the new General? I'm Ronnie Shaw. Commonwealth Minutemen.” The woman introduced herself, “Heard you were trying to get the Minutemen back on their feet. Thought I'd come see the new General for myself.”

“Ronnie Sh-” Preston caught himself before he could go on an excited ramble, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, but I’m not the General. General DiMaggio is currently in Diamond City. I’m her second in command, Colonel Preston Garvey.”

“Garvey? Oh yeah, I heard of you…” Ronnie gave Preston a quick once over, “Took over Hollis's group after the Quincy Massacre, right? You’re definitely one of the good ones.”

“I… thank you, that’s very flattering, coming from you.” The colonel scratched the back of his neck.

“I've heard some good things. Wouldn't be here otherwise.” Ronnie continued, “Now that I'm here, I can see you really need my help.”

“Well, we can always use more experienced soldiers,” Preston nodded, “Having a veteran like you with us would help a lot.”

“Yeah, you're not kidding. But I had something more specific in mind.”

“What do you mean?” Preston raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s see about getting that tunnel cleared,” Ronnie pointed to a passageway that was blocked by a mountain of rubble, “Then we’ll see about getting into the armory.”

* * *

“On your left!”

At MacCready’s warning, Rhiannon turned, firing three shots into a raider’s chest.

“How many of them are there?!” Travis asked, his voice sounding exasperated and fearful.

“Five-” Simon answered before firing a laser bolt that turned a raider to dust, “Four.”

“Three!” Valentine and Piper called at once, then the reporter amended, “Two.”

“I haven’t seen Bull or Gouger yet,” Lilith said, firing a pair of shots into one of the final raiders, as Rhiannon finished off the other.

“They’re probably in the office,” Simon pointed towards the metal structure opposite where they entered, “Come on-”

Before Simon could continue, a dark skinned man in military fatigues charged from the shadows tackling the mechanic and sending the two tumbling over the guard rail and onto the factory floor below.

“Simon!” Lily rushed to the railing, aiming her gun for the man who had charged him. A blast of machine gun fire forced her into cover.

“You think you can just come in here and fuck wit my guys?” A muscular, red-haired man with a horseshoe mustache and war paint screamed at them, toting a heavy assault rifle, “Well, say ‘hello’ to my little frien’!”

Rhiannon immediately answered with a spray of bullets from her submachine gun, and the raider collapsed. “Fuck off.”

“Wow.” Piper blinked, “That was anticlimactic.”

“Simon’s down there with Gouger,” Lily called over her shoulder.

“Everything hurts,” Simon called up, carefully getting to his feet. Beside him, Gouger began to slowly stir.

“Can you get back up here?” MacCready called out, looking over the railing.

“There are stairs. And a ramp.” Simon put his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath.

Pulling out a Stimpack, Lily began to hurry down the flights of stairs. Piper began to pick through the pockets of the downed raiders, while Valentine looked around warily.

“Haven’t seen Bull yet,” the Synth remarked.

“He’s probably with Vadim.” Travis finally spoke up.

“Probably.” Simon agreed, “He’s probably in that-”

The mechanic was suddenly cut off as Gouger launched from the ground and wrapped an arm around Simon’s neck.

“Get off of him!” Lily shouted. She grabbed the stair rail and vaulted the last flight down.

Gouger reached back and pulled a stubby sawed-off shotgun, holding it up for all to see, “Stay the fuck back! Stay back or I’ll blow his fuckin’ brains out!”

Lilith skidded to a halt, her eyes wide and panicked as she looked between Gouger and Simon, helpless. Above her, her companions wore similar expressions, knowing that any attempt to take out the raider could injure or kill Simon.

“Don’t make any sudden moves,” Gouger continued as he shuffled toward the nearest exit, “Nobody moves, and nobody gets-”

A sudden shot rang out, having exposed himself as he moved out of position. Gouger fell, a bullet having pierced his head.

“Oh, shit,” Travis squeaked out, his hand trembling as he lowered his gun. “I- I didn’t mean- oh no...”

Lilith rushed forward and grabbed Simon by the shoulders, pulling him into an embrace. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m… fine…” Simon hugged back, his voice shaking.

“Nice shooting, kid.” Valentine clapped Travis on the shoulder, the DJ flinching and letting out a small whimper.

“I… was aiming for his gun.” The young man admitted.

“Then shitty shooting, kid,” MacCready scoffed.

“Come on,” Rhiannon interrupted, as Lily and Simon began to ascend back to their level. “We still have to get into the office.”

“Bull’s in there, I know it,” Simon insisted when they caught up.

“One of him and…” MacCready began to count the party, “One, two, three, four, five, six, seven-”

“Woof.”

“Eight. Eight of us.” The rifleman finished.

“He doesn’t stand a chance,” Rhiannon said confidently. “Let’s go.”

The party assembled just outside the office. Simon, Lily, and MacCready lined up along the window as Rhiannon, Valentine, and Piper entered. Travis and Dogmeat stayed out of sight. Inside, Bull stood over Vadim, a gun aimed at his head.

“Stay the fuck back! I’ll kill him!”

“Easy, Bull,” Valentine said as the trio entered their hands up. “We’re just here to talk.”

“My left nut, we’re gonna talk!” Bull spat, “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You and all of your friends are gonna throw all your weapons over the fuckin’ railing. Then you’re all gonna line up. Then Vadim and I are gonna go for a little walk. Capiche?”

“You don’t have to do this, Bull,” Rhiannon attempted. “Whatever problem you have with Vadim, we can try and fix.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ do,” Bull pointed his gun at the Minuteman, “Because _you_ shot up all my-”

Bull’s threats were cut short as a shot rang out from just behind the trio of negotiators. Bull collapsed to the floor as everyone turned to see Travis holding the smoking gun.

“Let me guess… you were aiming for his gun and missed?” MacCready asked sarcastically as everyone filed into the room.

“I hit what I was aiming for this time,” Travis responded, his voice still tinged with nervousness, but far steadier than before.

“Good job.” Simon gave Travis’s shoulder a squeeze. Piper moved forward to begin untying Vadim, his hands and ankles bound together.

“Thank you… I didn’t know if anyone would come… I thought this might be the end,” Vadim took Piper by the hands, “Thank you, thank you! You are true friends!”

“Are there more of them? Are they gonna keep coming after you?” Rhiannon asked.

“No, no,” Vadim shook his head, “This was best they could do. You got them.”

“ _That_ was the best they could do?” MacCready asked incredulously.

“These idiots had caps and chems just lying around… they did not notice when I filled my pockets. Simon, Lily, take it, payment for the work you have done.” Vadim reached into his pants and coat, shelling out piles of assorted drugs and bags of caps.

Lily frowned at Vadim, but immediately began to gather up the caps as quickly as he set them down. “Yefim says you refused to give Bull his money. You _were_ planning on paying us, _right_ , Vadim?”

“I just did!” Vadim smiled brightly.

“That’s not-”

“Travis! I am surprised to see you here!” Vadim greeted the DJ with open arms, turning quickly away from Lilith.

“Hey Vadim, I’m glad you’re safe.” Travis smiled back, giving the bartender a brief hug.

“How did you get roped into this?”

“I… I wasn’t _forced_ or anything. I wanted to help.”

Vadim let out a joyous laugh, “You are full of surprises, my friend!”

“Oberland Station is just over the hill. I’ll have some Minutemen escort you two home. Or set up beds if you’d rather wait until morning.” Rhiannon offered, leading the bartender out of the brewery office.

“Man… What a day, huh?” Travis sighed, turning to Simon and Lily as the others filed out. After taking a moment to gather his words and courage, he continued.

“Listen… I just wanted to say thanks. This has been… well, it’s been crazy, but I learned a lot, I think. After all this… I think about all the things that had me worried so much, and it just seems… silly, y’know? Like, was I really _that_ worried about just being on the radio? That’s nothing compared to being beat up, and shot at… I can do so much more. And I need to. Sorry, I’m… rambling. Thanks again. I owe you.”

“Hey, it’s our pleasure,” Lilith replied, still tucking away handfuls of chems into Simon’s backpack.

“This is a lot of drugs…” Simon mumbled so only she could hear.

“Which means we can afford a lot of hazmat suits,” Lily replied, punctuating her statement with a quick kiss.

Travis coughed into his fist, “Did… Vadim put you up to this?”

“Put us up to what?” Lilith turned back towards Travis.

“All of this. I mean, except him getting kidnapped. But… the bar fight, Scarlett…” Travis put his hands in his pockets, “I mean, I’m still really thankful, but…”

Simon and Lilith exchanged a glance.

“Vadim was just worried about you,” Lilith said slowly. “He just... wanted to help you get a bit of confidence, and, hey.... It kind of worked? In a roundabout way...”

“And he didn’t like, order Scarlett to go over to your place. That was her choice,” Simon added, “Just like it was my choice to back you up in that bar fight.”

“You got a lot of people who care about you, Travis,” Lily said with a smile. “Even when you’re afraid, there are people who have your back. Alright?”

Travis smiled back and nodded, “Yeah. Alright.”

Simon gave the DJ a pat on the shoulder, and Lilith leaned over to plant a kiss on Travis’s cheek.

“Let’s get you over to Oberland. Rhiannon’s Minutemen can take you back home.”

* * *

As Rhiannon watched the small regiment of Minutemen escort Travis and Vadim back towards Diamond City, she heard footsteps come up behind her, and smelled a cigarette. A moment later, Nick Valentine came into her peripheral sight.

“Hey,” he greeted, “Let me ask you something.”

Surprised by the sudden statement, Rhiannon turned to the detective, concerned. “Is... something wrong?”

“Well, I... I sort of had the same question.” Night had fallen awhile ago, and Nick’s glowing eyes stood out among the shadows as they found Rhiannon’s gaze. “It’s just, with everything that’s happened with you, your family... it’s a whole helluva lot to process. I wanted to make sure you’re holding up alright.”

The general was silent for a moment, but found herself unable to hold Valentine’s stare, instead watching the smouldering end of his cigarette, and the smoke that lazily curled skywards from it.

“I dunno, Nick,” she finally sighed. Rhiannon sounded exhausted, and not just from the day’s stresses. “My family’s in tatters. I’ve been dropped into this place where everything’s trying to kill me. You tell me.”

Valentine blinked in surprise, expecting at least a half-hearted attempt at claiming she was just fine, thank you very much. He dropped the butt of his cigarette to the ground, grinding it into the dirt under his toes before responding. “I’d expect you to feel lost, scared, and mad as hell. I sure did.”

Rhiannon turned to properly face the Synth. Nick sighed.

“Took me a long damn time to get a feel for this place. Thank goodness I found Diamond City. It’s got its flaws, sure, but it beats the hell out of anywhere else in the Commonwealth. ‘Course, when I took up there back when, people were just as scared of the Institute as they are now. Maybe more. The Massacre of the CPG was still pretty fresh in people’s minds at that point, and folks were losing sleep over the Broken Mask. Plenty of people just assumed I was a saboteur, moving in to melt down the reactor or poison the drinking water. But at the time, they couldn’t exactly turn me away.”

“Massacre of the CPG? What’s that?” Rhiannon asked, her eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion.

“The Commonwealth Provisional Government,” Valentine elaborated, “Years back, a group of settlements tried to get together to form a coalition. Every settlement with even a hint of clout sent representatives to try and hash out an agreement… only the Institute sent a representative of their own: a Synth. The man killed every rep at the talks. The Commonwealth Provisional Government was over before it even got off the ground.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rhiannon breathed, her eyes widening, mind racing. Why would the Institute be so threatened by such a coalition? And then, again, she felt that sickening twist of her stomach as she remembered that these were the people that had her son, that _raised_ her son and refused her the right to do it.

“I took up in town not long after. I was damn lucky they didn’t tell me to scram right then and there,” Nick sighed, pulling out a screwdriver from his coat.

“Why would you want to live among bigots like that?” Rhiannon asked, watching Nick begin to tighten the mechanisms of his metallic hand. She wondered if it was just a habit he had, or if the joints really loosened themselves so often.

“Couldn’t really _blame_ ‘em, given the circumstances,” Nick shrugged, “But folks sure started turning the other cheek when I showed up with the mayor’s daughter.”

“Now that sounds like a story.” Rhiannon offered the Synth a smile.

Nick smirked. “Gal of about fifteen, pride and joy of the mayor back then… a man by the name of Henry Roberts. The young Miss Roberts decided to run off with a caravan hand she’d… _known_ for an evening. Turns out the guy was part of a gang of kidnappers. I didn’t even know who I was rescuing, I just came across a crying girl and four toughs. I took her home and the mayor dubbed me a hero, offered me a place in town. Lots of folks protested, said I was a spy, but he wouldn’t have it. Taking up in the city was tricky at first, but I never tried to hide what I was, and people seemed to warm to that.”

“You took down four guys by yourself?” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“I didn’t have to. Back then, Synths were even more of an unknown quantity than they are today. I told them I was rigged to explode, and started going ‘beep, beep, beep.’ Hardest part of that rescue was keeping from laughing as they climbed over each other to get away.”

Rhiannon and Valentine shared a laugh, before she playfully looked him up and down.

“You’re not a spy, right?” The general gently tapped the detective’s chest, leaning in. “Testing… testing… Hello, Institute, can you hear me?”

“Hell if I know.” Valentine gently waved her hand away, “If I am, the Institute’s plan to gather intel on all the runaways of the Commonwealth is going off without a hitch.”

“Was it hard settling in?” Rhiannon asked, shoving her hands into her pockets. She turned and the pair began to make their way back towards where they left the others.

“They sure didn’t make it easy. I started off doing the jobs no one else wanted. I got more banged up being Diamond City’s handyman than I ever did living out in the ruins. But I guess folks never forgot I rescued the mayor’s daughter, so they started coming to me when people went missing. Wife runs off with a new paramour and takes the rent money with her? Talk to the Synth. An upset father decides moving him and the kids to Goodneighbor in the dead of night’s not the worst _damn_ idea since the bomb? Go get Nick.

“After a while, the jobs got so backed up they didn’t even ask me to do the handyman stuff anymore… Hell, I was so happy to do it, it was months before I started charging anyone. I never stopped being Nick the Synth, but it was Nick the Detective folks came to see. It was about then that things… things finally started feeling normal. It took me a long time to realize that home is where you make it. With some time and effort, this place can be home for you too.”

“Thank you, Nick.” Rhiannon and Valentine stopped, watching from a few yards away as Lilith was apparently imitating MacCready, wearing his hat and making exaggerated gestures as he protested, Piper and Simon failing to stifle their laughter. At their feet, Dogmeat looked back and forth between the humans, his tail wagging. “Honestly, sometimes it feels like it already is.”

* * *

**February 27th, 2288.**

The sun was barely cresting over the sky, bathing Nuka World in a faint orange glow. Sitting in a patio chair, Caldwell sipped at his drink as he stared out over the horizon. Behind him, the sound of a door opening, followed by heavy footsteps.

“Boss.” Goliath’s rumbling voice hovered over the Overboss.

“Goliath, what have I told you about mornings?” Caldwell asked, “Mornings are for Quantum and contemplation.”

“I saw an intruder sneak away from here.” The Super Mutant continued, “I traced her steps. I followed her scent.”

“Mornings. Are for Quantum. And contemplation,” Caldwell repeated sternly.

“You bear the fair lady’s scent. The whole room does.”

“Goddammit, Goliath!” Caldwell stood up turning to argue with his hulking bodyguard, “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. It was a straightforward exchange, nothing more.”

“Was it?” Goliath’s red eyes matched Caldwell’s steel blue, the two glaring at each other until the door burst open again.

“Good morning boss!” Gage sauntered in, a spring in his step, “How are you? Let’s make today a good one, gonna get some real work done! What’s on the agenda?”

Goliath and Caldwell both turned and stared at the abnormally chipper one-eyed raider.

“Tomorrow morning I’m taking some of the Doomed to clear out the Gunners near the Red Rocket. We need to send a scout or two to gage their numbers-”

“I am on it!” Gage announced, punctuating each word with a clap. He then reached around the bar and grabbed a bottle of Quantum and one of Caldwell’s cigars, “I’ll check in with you later, boss!”

With that, Gage exited the room, leaving Caldwell stunned silent. After nearly a full minute, he turned to Goliath.

“So. Who does _he_ smell like?”

* * *

“Okay, so when we get to Bunker Hill,” Simon was explaining to the group, “Chances are they’ll think that a group our size might be a raider gang. They’re suspicious like that.”

“Yes, because a Minuteman wearing a Vault suit as underclothes, a reporter who’s already _been_ to Bunker Hill, and Diamond City’s famed Synth detective would be mistaken for raiders.” Piper rolled her eyes.

“What… about Lily, Cready, and I?”

“You could _totally_ be raiders.”

Lilith looked like she wanted to protest, but then looked down at the leather straps and harnesses across her torso, and the rough metal elbow and shoulder pads she wore over her trench coat. Her mouth shut again.

“You there!” A woman in a brown suit called out to the approaching group, a shotgun in her hands, “Caravan or raiders?”

“Neither,” Rhiannon called back, “We’re just picking up some supplies.”

“Alright.” The woman seemed to ease up a little, “Head on in, but don’t start shit.”

“Well now I want to start shit,” Lily murmured to Simon.

“Lily… _please_ don’t.” The mechanic responded under his breath.

“If you think _that_ monument’s something, you should see the one in the Capital Wasteland,” MacCready commented as they headed up the steps and through the gate, “Way bigger.”

“Dick jokes aside,” Rhiannon cut an ensuing innuendo off at the pass, “We need to get some hazmat suits, and maybe some medical supplies.”

“The doctor here is a veterinarian, by the way,” Simon interrupted.

“…Maybe just the hazmat suits?” Rhiannon sighed.

“I bet she’s got dog treats, though,” Lily said, grinning. “Dogmeat, you want us to get you some treats?”

“Woof, woof!” Dogmeat barked excitedly, jumping and running in circles around the group.

“I got some extra caps,” the female merc offered, seeing the look Valentine was giving her.

“Let’s pair up and comb the marketplace… and the vet.” Piper gave the dog a glance.

“MacCready, you and I can go look for hazmat suits,” Rhiannon offered. “Piper and Nick, maybe you two can find us some Rad-X and RadAway?”

“Sometimes general vendors carry it,” Valentine tipped his hat, “We’ll comb the market before checking in with the local doctor.”

“What are Simon and I supposed to do?” Lily set a hand on her hip.

“Take Dogmeat,” Rhiannon paused leaning closer and lowering her voice, “To the vee ee tee.”

Dogmeat let out a whine, tucking his tail between his legs and lowering his ears.

“Easier said than done…” Simon gave the German Shepherd a sympathetic pat on the back.

“Hey, don’t worry about it, boy.” Lilith knelt down and scratched his ears. “You’ll have me and Simon there. You know we have your back, right?”

“Whuff.” Dogmeat let out a tiny little bark, the tail between his legs wagging slightly.

“Yeah, we’re just gonna make sure you’re in top fighting shape so you can keep helping out Rhiannon.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat gave a deeper bark, standing straight again with his ears perked up.

“Hell yeah! High five.” Lilith held up her hand, but merely received a lick across her palm. “Close enough.”

* * *

“Nice to be on the open road,” MacCready commented as he and Rhiannon browsed the wares of a travelling merchant who had stopped in to resupply, “Goodneighbor was starting to wear out its welcome.”

“What makes you say that?” Rhiannon couldn’t exactly fault him for disliking the settlement, but he and Lilith had both seemed to thrive there.

“Goodneighbor was a good place to look for work, but a crappy place to hang your hat. Let’s put it this way… can’t get much rest when you’re sleeping with one eye open.” MacCready shrugged, “Still, it was the best place for me and Rook to set up shop. Diamond City’s goons would’ve run me out of town, and wandering the Commonwealth alone isn’t the brightest plan when you’re hard up on caps.”

“‘Setting up shop?’” Rhiannon repeated. “What do you mean?”

“I needed somewhere to hang out so that people could find me- and/or Lily- when they required our services,” MacCready explained, “Folks in Goodneighbor tend not to ask too many questions, which suited our needs. So we cut a deal with Hancock and waited on the caps to roll in.

“Are caps _really_ that important to you two?” Rhiannon asked, turning to face the rifleman.

“I don’t have much of a choice,” MacCready admitted. As they headed away from the vendor, not seeing what they needed, he continued, “I don’t usually go around sharing stuff like this, but you’ve been more than straight with me, so I’m gonna be straight with you.

“It’s those two assh-” MacCready caught himself with a sigh- “Those two idiots you may’ve passed on your way into the VIP room at the Third Rail. Winlock and Barnes. They’ve been hounding me for _months_ and it’s been driving off clients. No one wants to touch me when they find out I used to run with the Gunners. And I figured if I could get enough caps together, maybe I could buy them out.”

“How many caps do you need?” Rhiannon asked, frowning in concern.

“I’m not sure,” The rifleman admitted, “Honestly, that’s not even what concerns me the most… I’m wondering how I can pull it off. Winlock and Barnes have a small army of Gunners with them at all times. They might decide to keep the caps and put a bullet in my head for good measure. If I set up a place to meet them, I’m sure they’d roll in with everyone they’ve got. Unless…”

“Unless?” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow as she echoed him.

“Maybe our little group could pay them a little visit and put an end to them before they realize what’s going on,” MacCreaded suggested. The general opened her mouth but he cut her off, “Before you get that look on your face, let me say that I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t trust you.”

“I... we don’t have a lot of free time,” Rhiannon admitted. “Is there any other way for us to handle this?”

“If there was, I would’ve done it already,” MacCready sighed, “And to be honest, even _if_ they took the money, there’d be no guarantee they wouldn’t just change their minds later. Then I’d be completely broke _and_ on the run.”

There was a pause, then Rhiannon nodded and set a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve already done a lot for me, MacCready. If you need me, I’m there.”

“Wow…” MacCready blinked, “I… don’t know what to say…”

“Just say what you need from me.” Rhiannon squeezed his shoulder before letting her hand drop.

“I tell you what,” MacCready shrugged, “When we have the time, we can head over to Mass Pike Interchange and take them down. That’s where they’re stationed most of the time. If you don’t… I’m not going to hold it against you. Either way, it’s nice to know you care.”

“Of course I care.” Rhiannon gently bumped his elbow with hers, the way she’d seen Lily and him interact.

“Alright, enough of this sappy garbage. Let’s find us some suits.”

* * *

Across the marketplace, Piper and Valentine finished up a transaction with the local general merchant, Deb, managing to scrape together two bottles of Rad-X and a single RadAway.

“Better than nothing,” The reporter shrugged and sighed.

“Yeah, but they’re going to need a hell of a lot more than that to tackle the Glowing Sea.” Valentine reached into his pocket for a cigarette, but when he pulled his hand out, he found the carton empty. “Damn.”

“Oh, you need cigarettes?” Piper and Nick turned to see a beautiful blonde in a embroidered suit, her voice dripping with honey, “I just so happen to have some. Packs, cartons, a few cigar cases…”

“Got any RadAway?” Piper asked.

“Yes we do,” The woman smiled before turning to her bodyguard, swatting the cigarette out of his hands, “Smoke break’s over! Get the RadAway!”

Piper and Valentine blinked at the sudden shift in the vendor’s personality as the caravan guard began to search through assorted bags.

“It may also be a long shot, but do you have any hazmat suits?” Piper ventured.

“Huh. What a coincidence,” The woman put a hand to her chin, “I just so happen to have two of them… my boss was working on something, but… well, he gave the extras to me.”

“Must be our lucky day.” Valentine’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. “We’ll take ‘em.”

“Okie dokie! So… that’s two hazmat suits, one RadAway-” The woman’s sweet voice turned sour as she turned to her employee, “Hurry up, you _stupid_ fucking-”

“Cigarettes.” Piper added, shifting a little uncomfortably, “And do you have three RadAways?”

“Absolutely!” The blonde’s tone shifted again, “Two hazmat suits, three RadAway, two packs of cigarettes… that’ll come to… five hundred and eighty caps.”

“Excuse me?” Piper blinked, and Nick made some strangled sort of sound.

“Three hundred for the RadAway, two hundred and forty for the hazmat suits, and forty for the two packs of cigarettes.” The woman confirmed as her bodyguard brought the items forth.

“That’s ridiculous!” Piper argued. “I could get those for half the price somewhere else.”

“This isn’t ‘somewhere else’ honey,” The woman’s voice dropped an octave, “It’s called supply and demand. _I_ have the supply, so _I_ get to decide how much you pay for it. And good fucking luck finding someone selling hazmat suits somewhere else. Are you gonna bite the bullet, or are you gonna scram?”

“Fuck this,” Piper scoffed, turning to go. “Come on, Nicky.”

“We’ll take the suits,” Valentine said, reaching into his coat. “ _Just_ the suits.”

“I’m glad we could do business,” The woman’s smile returned, a touch sinister, before her head snapped towards her employee, “Put that other shit away!”

The guard jumped to her orders. As he turned away, they heard him mutter under his breath, “Even Caldwell treated us better than this.”

As the goods were exchanged, Nick noticed that at the mention of another name, the woman’s demeanor shifted, and he caught her glaring _murderously_ at her bodyguard more than once. Perhaps this was the reason she didn’t thank them for their business, although her personality was an equally valid excuse.

“‘Caldwell,’” Valentine said quietly as they headed away from her booth. “That name ringing any bells for you?”

“Not really,” Piper answered after a moment’s contemplation. “Why?”

“Heard the guard mention it.” Nick shrugged. “Must be her boss.”

“Now that you mention it…” Piper furrowed her brows in thought, “It sounds… _familiar_ somehow… but I just can’t… ugh, we’ll have to put this on the back burner. We have hazmat suits now, let’s go find Rhiannon.”

“Right. She’ll be happy to have her hands on these. All they’ll need now is the Power Armor.”

* * *

“Pretty dark down here,” Ronnie peered around the dimly-lit tunnels under Fort Independence, “We’d better watch our step.”

“There’s a mine up ahead,” Preston pointed at an intersection between tunnels. Reaching down to grab a piece of rubble, he gently tossed the stone at the mine, causing it to explode. Barely a moment later, another few explosions rang out.

“Mother of… looks like there was more than one mine there.” Ronnie cursed, “Alright, let’s keep moving and keep an eye to the floor.”

The pair of Minutemen slowly advanced through the tunnels, stepping around mines or detonating them with rubble. Turning a corner, a series of beeps pulled their attentions away from the floor.

“Turret!” Preston jumped back as the automated defense turret fired upon them.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do, sonny,” Ronnie called over the gunfire, “Ready up your musket and wait until it resets. Then we take it out while it’s still in standby mode.”

“Got it.” The colonel nodded.

The Minutemen cranked their laser muskets and waited patiently until the gunfire stopped. After a few moments, the turret beeped again. A beat later, the duo rushed out of cover and fired simultaneously, the turret exploding in a shower of scrap.

“Nice work,” Ronnie nodded, “I think I hear another one up ahead… you hear that whirring kind of sound? It’s either a turret or a fusion generator.”

Around the bend, Ronnie’s latter guess was proven true. No turret in sight, and no mines.

“Huh. Things are looking clear.” Preston sighed, taking his hat off for a moment to wipe his brow.

“Well, we’re not out of the woods yet…” Ronnie responded, leading the younger Minuteman onwards, “There should be a doorway just up ah-”

“Movement detected.” A deep, mechanical voice from the far side of what appeared to be an old barracks announced, “Sentry Bot, designation SARGE, powering up.”

“Well, I’ll be…” Ronnie slung the musket back over her shoulder, “I would’ve never guessed that Sarge would still be down here! Don’t worry, he’s one of ours.”

“Error. File corruption detected.”

“Uh oh.” Preston paled as the Sentry Bot lifted his mighty arms and aimed his massive guns at them.

“Jiminy Cricket, he’s on the fritz!” Ronnie exclaimed, “Fall back!”

Ducking and dodging the minigun fire, Preston and Ronnie rushed back through the tunnels. Too large to pursue them, Sarge eventually returned to a standby mode.

“There’s no way we can take him on,” Preston panted, hands on his knees, “But I know someone who might be able to reprogram him.”

“Great. Call him in.”

“He’s with the General right now.”

“Goldarnit.” Ronnie spat, “Well, it looks like we have to wait on yer General to get back.”

“I’ll have Thomas make occasional announcements on Radio Freedom,” Preston stood back up, “For now, let’s make sure the place is running smoothly for when the General returns.”

* * *

The Banshee barely suppressed a heavy sigh as her Omens gathered in the main room of their headquarters, each of them either hungover or- in what she suspected Ellison’s case to be- still drunk. Even Stitches had her eyes hidden behind dark glasses and was sipping from her third can of purified water.

“You’re all meant to be the examples,” Witch was scolding them, but Moira doubted anyone was listening. “We have a reputation to uphold. We’re meant to be the cold-blooded and disciplined ones. And the four of you look like you woke up in a dumpster this morning.”

Sinead’s reply was muttered into the table, but Moira was fairly certain she’d said, “I did.”

“Well you look like you lost a fight to a Yao Guai,” Fontayne retorted. He pointed with his chin towards Witch’s neck, “Who chewed you up like a piece of meat last night?”

“Bet it was Gage.” Ellison smirked.

“What- and _who_ \- I do is none of your business,” Witch snapped. “At least I can show up ready to do my job.”

“Enough.” Moira spoke up before anyone else could argue. She’d had the good sense to wear a scarf that morning to hide the few remaining marks from her evening with the Overboss; not that anyone would dare to question her activities.

“But-”

“I said enough.” Moira’s voice lowered, and everyone around the table shifted uncomfortably. “Tomorrow we are beginning efforts to retake the Red Rocket, and I need a proper team with me.”

“You’re going out there?” Sinead lifted her head off the table, squinting.

“Yes. Meaning you will be in charge,” Moira answered. “Fontayne, I want a decent team of Spectres and Ravens selected to come with. Witch, I want you to pick a few Crows you think are looking for a chance to shine. I’ll be taking the Super Mutants with us, so Ellison, you’ll be joining to help supervise them. And Stitches, you can choose to come or to stay behind.”

“I’ll come, but I’m sticking to the back,” the medic answered, lifting her canned water to her lips.

“Good. You’re all dismissed. Clean yourselves up and make sure our people are ready to go.”

The four Omens got to their feet and shuffled away to their respective haunts, as Moira turned to her second. “Why didn’t you wear a scarf? You could easily cover those bites.”

“Uh...” Witch avoided her gaze, his cheeks visibly growing warm. “It’s... Porter- uh, _Gage_ said- nah, you know what, it’s fine.”

“Nevermind. I don’t want to know the details.” Moira winced, and began to head back to her room. Witch fell into step with her, an instinct as natural to him as breathing.

“So, can I ask where _you_ spent the night?” He asked after they’d left the common room.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to,” Moira replied tensely.

“Seriously? After all the bullshit you went through with him?” Witch scoffed.

“He asked me, and I made my opinions and my position clear. I’m not to be toyed with, and this has no bearing on our business relationship.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

“ _Don’t._ ” Moira stopped walking and turned to glare at the feathered Harbinger. “I was young and careless and I trusted her. I will not repeat that mistake.”

Witch held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not worried about you making mistakes. I’m worried the almighty Overboss didn’t hear anything after ‘yes, I’ll sleep with you.’”

“Good thing I put my foot down first.” Moira rolled her eyes. “Now go choose some people to kill these fucking Gunners. I need to get some actual sleep.”

* * *

It was nearing seven o’clock when Rhiannon and her little group passed by Satellite Station Olivia. Lilith had been carrying on about Dogmeat’s bravery with the vet, and the others weren’t sure if the German Shepherd could bask in praise, but he certainly kept wagging his tail along to her account.

“And he let her check him over for fleas and ticks. He didn’t have any, but he was so well behaved-”

“Oh look, we’re here!” Simon interrupted as they approached the wreckage of a vertibird.

“You know where to look, right Simon?” Rhiannon turned to the mechanic.

“Yeah. I’ll be right back… c’mon Dogmeat, you can keep me company.”

“Woof!” Dogmeat followed behind Simon as he headed off to search the area.

As they headed off, Piper, who had been silently ruminating on something the entire trip, finally spoke up. “I have a weird question for you guys. Not you, Blue- well... maybe you.”

“Okay…?” Rhiannon looked to the reporter, puzzled.

“Does the name ‘Caldwell’ ring any bells to anyone? It’s been driving me crazy all day. I _know_ I’ve heard it before.”

Lily and Rhiannon shook their heads.

“I have,” MacCready spoke up, “I… think he was from the Capital Wasteland… he was a pretty big name out there. I think he had something to do with Project Purity.”

“ _That_ was it!” Piper snapped her fingers.

“What’s Project Purity?” Rhiannon glanced between them warily; a name like that carried a lot of vastly different potentials.

“Well, some eggheads pulled together to purify _all_ the water in the Capital Wasteland,” MacCready answered, “Caldwell… well, both of them, were involved.”

“Both of them?” Valentine raised an eyebrow, digging in his pocket for something to write with.

“Yeah, it was a family thing… I think… maybe brothers? Wait, no, it was a dad and his son!” MacCready pulled the hat off his head and ran a hand through his hair, “Right… because he was looking for his dad, and got Three Dog involved, and-”

“Rhiannon!” Simon called, his voice apprehensive as he returned to the group, “It’s not here!”

“What?” Rhiannon turned to the mechanic. “What do you mean ‘it’s not here?’”

“I mean that _it’s not here_!” Simon repeated, “I looked all over… twice! And it’s not here!”

“That’s not funny, Simon,” Rhiannon snapped, beginning to head towards where Simon had been searching.

“Rhiannon, I’m not kidding,” Simon followed behind her, “I-”

“Dogmeat!” Rhiannon called to the German Shepherd, “Where is it, boy?”

“Woof.” The German Shepherd sat down, quirking his head to the side. One ear swiveled towards Simon.

“I’m sorry,” Simon put a hand on her shoulder, “Someone else must’ve found it.”

“Well, shit.” Lily led the others over. “What do we do now?”

“Only one other place to get power armor,” Simon said.

“No.” Rhiannon crossed her arms adamantly.

“Rhiannon-”

“Absolutely not.”

“If you don’t-”

“Drop it, Simon. It’s not happening.”

“We need that armor or we’ll never get through the Glowing Sea.”

“The answer is no!” Rhiannon insisted. “Never in a million years will I be caught dead joining the Brotherhood of Steel.”

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

“Paladin Danse. I’m here to join the Brotherhood of Steel.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! On this May 26th update, I am now a quarter century.
> 
> {Goliath: "Oh, I see Moira was here."  
> Caldwell: "I'M NOT IN LOVE WITH HER OH MY GOD LAY OFF!"  
> Goliath: "... Uh..."
> 
> I mean is that not what happened?}


	24. Knievel Has Landed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caldwell and Moira lead the attack on the Nuka World Red Rocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Explicit Graphic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Cannibalism
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Stone Sour.

 

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR**

**KNIEVEL HAS LANDED**

* * *

**February 28th, 2288.**

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Three very loud, very heavy knocks shattered the quiet morning. Xian Jun watched helplessly as the house of cards they’d been building crumbled.

“Son of a-” The Harbinger sighed, but, hand on their gun, cracked the door to the headquarters open warily. On the other side, the grey right hand of the Overboss stared down at them.

“I seek to speak to the fair lady.”

“Uh...” Xian Jun blinked. “Which one?”

“You call her Banshee,” Goliath clarified impatiently, his arms crossed over his chest.

“The Banshee’s getting ready to leave.” Xian Jun’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She’s going to be meeting with the Overboss at the gates; surely you can catch her there.”

“Go get her,” Goliath demanded, not moving an inch.

“What’s your business?”

“My business with her is not yours.”

“I’m the person you need to get through to talk to her, so, actually, it is.”

“I can get _through_ you with my bare hands, or you can accept the few words I offer.” Goliath’s massive, meaty hands clenched into fists. The color drained from Xian Jun’s face. After a moment, the Harbinger turned to the few others in the common area.

“Audrey, go and get Banshee. Tell her the grey mutant is here,” Xian Jun called out. As the younger Harbinger hopped to her task, there came a few heavy footsteps, and the form of Jolly filled the doorway behind Xian Jun, the Super Mutant’s eyes narrowed.

“Imbecile,” Goliath snarled at the tattooed Super Mutant.

“Stupid head,” Jolly growled back. Xian Jun awkwardly side stepped so they were no longer between the two mutants. “Not welcome.”

“I walk where I please.” Goliath snorted and smiled, almost laughing at the threat.

“Not here,” Jolly huffed, cracking his knuckles.

“Jolly. Down.” Moira’s voice interrupted the brewing tension as she entered the main room, rolling up the sleeves of her shirt. Jolly snorted through his nose and spit at Goliath’s feet before stomping away.

“Fair lady.” Goliath bowed his head to the Banshee as she approached, completely ignoring Jolly’s insulting gesture.

“Goliath.” Moira moved to the doorway and folded her arms. “I told Caldwell I would meet him at the gate.”

“I am not here for him,” The Super Mutant responded, “I am here for my own reason.”

“Oh, really?” The Banshee seemed amused, but stepped aside and getured for the mutant to enter. “And what business could we possibly have?”

“We walk.” Goliath nodded away from the Harbinger common room, “We talk.”

“Alone, or may I bring company?”

“Alone, I prefer. If company brings comfort, then only those who keep secrets.”

Moira considered this; Witch was busy organizing the others and the other Omens had their work to do. She turned towards where Jolly had stormed off. “Mutt. Come with me.”

The smaller mutant perked up, and all but rushed to her side, eager to follow along. With him in tow, Moira stepped outside. “He has no tongue. We’ll have privacy.”

“Good. If it behaves.” Goliath glared over at Mutt briefly but started to lumber towards the market, “I know what you did the other night.”

“Firstly, you will not speak about Mutt that way. He is a loyal friend, and could he speak, you would find him as clever as yourself.” Moira straightened her coat. “Secondly, I have no idea what you mean.”

“You reek of Caldwell still, and your scent lingers on him.” Goliath answered once he was confident no one was following or eavesdropping. The Banshee’s steps faltered.

“I fail to see what the relevance of that is. Caldwell has many women in his bed.”

“Their smell leaves with them. But you have lingered.”

“Are you suggesting I try and bathe more regularly?” Moira raised an eyebrow, still not quite finding the point of the conversation. At this Goliath let out a deep, throaty chuckle.

“Heh… no, but you smell better than Mags. She smells like lies and sickening perfume,” He stopped in front the pond, the Fizztop Grille across the water, looming in the distance, “But you could have left. You chose to stay. And Caldwell has not scrubbed away your scent as with the others.”

“Caldwell invited me to stay,” Moira scoffed.

“You still chose to stay.” Goliath interrupted, “You could have left. You did not.”

“There were still crowds milling about,” she argued. “I would have been seen leaving.”

“You did not _have_ to lie with him, you _chose_ to. More than once.”

“Yes. I wanted to. Now what is the point to this, Goliath?”

“I see things.” Goliath rolled his shoulders, “Things that you and Caldwell do not. Things you will see, I hope.”

“What things?” Moira’s words had become short, impatient.

“You would not believe me if I told you,” The grey mutant answered with a shrug, “I hope you discover on your own. It will be… vindicating. I will be… happy.”

“So you’re wasting my time, then?”

“I am sorry you think that.” Goliath frowned.

“You drag me out here talking in circles about a choice I’m well aware of making. I don’t understand how this is anything worthwhile.”

The grey Super Mutant paused, turning his head to pop his neck, “I will tell you, but you cannot laugh and you cannot be angry.”

Moira glanced towards Mutt, who was looking even more puzzled than she felt as he gazed between her and Goliath. The Banshee shrugged. “Very well.”

“You and Caldwell. Soul mates.”

“That’s absurd,” Moira replied, resisting the urge to accompany her words with laughter. “I’m nothing more than another notch in his belt, and I don’t presume anything else.”

“Are you sure?”

“If I’m not, it’s his weakness. It certainly meant nothing to me.”

“ _Are you sure_?” Goliath repeated, emphasizing each word before lumbering through Disciple territory on his way back to the Fizztop.

Moira stared after him, baffled. Mutt gently prodded her shoulder with one finger.

“No, I have no idea what he’s talking about,” Moira assured the mutant. “He’s reading into things because he’s fond of me and wants something to exist that doesn’t.”

“You!” A sharp voice called Moira’s attention towards Operator territory, where Mags stormed towards her with hatred bubbling in her eyes.

“Good morning, Mags,” Moira said guardedly, reminded of her confrontation with Scarlett when she first arrived. “You dried off.”

“You stay _away_ from the Overboss, you fucking whore!” The normally calm and sophisticated tone that the Operator usually carried was completely abandoned as Mags shoved her finger in the Banshee’s face.

“Why should I?” Moira challenged, now _starkly_ reminded of Scarlett’s threats. But this time, she would seek no peace. Behind her, Mutt bared his jagged teeth, trying to make himself look larger than he was.

“Because I will fucking _end_ you, _Moira_!”

Moira’s eyes widened slightly. “How did you-”

“Because that’s the name Caldwell called me last night!” Mags snarled, her eyes aflame with hatred. There was a beat before Moira let out a sharp laugh, and Mutt let out a sound that also sounded like a chuckle.

“Listen, you rancid cunt,” Mags stepped in Moira’s face, “Stay the _fuck_ away from _my_ man.”

“Your man?” Moira sneered. “Caldwell doesn’t give a shit about you, or me, or Scarlett, or anyone but himself. Get over yourself.”

“Get over myself-” Mags scoffed, “You keep to fucking your mutants and that red-haired slut, or peace be damned, I will fucking _kill_ you and _everyone_ you’ve ever loved.”

As Moira’s eyes narrowed, they shifted, focusing over Mags’ shoulder for a moment before finding her face again. Stepping closer, the Banshee lowered her voice so the Operator had no choice but to listen. “If you’re going to be such a bitch, why don’t you go and let Mason breed you like one?”

At this, Mags’ eyes widened and without hesitation, she reeled back and slapped Moira across the face. The Banshee took the hit, and when she looked back at Mags, she was grinning.

“What the fuck?!” Gage snapped as he came upon the scene, “Mags, are you fuckin’ serious?!”

Mags whirled around, not noticing that Gage had been on his way to meet Caldwell at the gate and had witnessed the slap… and nothing else.

“She slapped me,” Moira snarled, her smile turning to an angered sneer and a hand lifting to her face.

“Gage, you-”

“Don’t make excuses, I fuckin’ saw it with my own eye,” Gage crossed his arms, “Both of you, come with me. The Overboss is gonna deal with this shit.”

Moira flashed Mags another cruel smile as she followed after Gage, undaunted. The cycloptic raider led the pair to the gates where Caldwell was discussing strategy with some of the Doomed. Upon reaching them, Gage coughed into his fist to draw Caldwell’s attention.

“Overboss, I just witnessed Mags slap the Banshee. Right in front of me.”

His conversation coming to a sharp halt, Caldwell slowly turned towards the trio of newcomers, “Did she now?”

Moira turned her face to show the bright red handprint on her cheek.

“I want an explanation. Now.” The Overboss stomped over to the pair of raider queens, glaring Mags down first.

“Overboss,” Mags averted her gaze, “The Banshee instigated by making insulting and degrading comments.”

“What I said wasn’t half as revolting as what was coming out of your mouth first anyways, Mags,” Moira added coolly.

“‘Insulting and degrading comments,’ Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” Caldwell looked up to the sky as he addressed the heavens, “Am I a fuckin’ _babysitter_ ? What are you _children_?!”

“I don’t know anything about trading insults, but she _definitely_ hit the Banshee. Saw that myself.” Gage supplied.

Caldwell took a deep breath, “Mags Black, you are on the inner council, and I expected far better, especially considering that I’ve already made an example of Mason for disturbing the peace.”

Mags hung her head in shame as the Overboss spoke, “I-”

“Shut. Your. Mouth.” Caldwell snarled, grabbing the Operator’s chin and forcing her to look at him, “You will pay me a ten thousand cap fine, and five thousand caps to the Harbingers. The first Operator territory of the Commonwealth shall be the Murkwater construction site. And lastly, you will get down on your hands and knees and _beg_ the Banshee and I for forgiveness.”

Moira’s smirk widened to a wicked smile as she folded her arms and turned expectantly to Mags. The Operator’s mouth dropped open in surprise as she attempted to process the severity of the punishment.

“Caldwell, please…”

“On. Your. Knees.” Caldwell interrupted coldly.

Swallowing hard, Mags slowly dropped to her knees, putting her nose to the ground, “I am so deeply sorry, Overboss Caldwell. I swear it’ll never happen again. Please, please forgive me.”

“Now the Banshee.”

“Banshee,” Mags attempted to keep the hatred from her voice, “I most sincerely and deeply apologize for my actions. Please forgive me.”

“No.”

“Please. Please, forgive me.” Mags fought to keep tears from escaping her eyes, though whether they were born of rage or humiliation, she didn’t know.

“I want your word that you won’t threaten me again, or think you’re entitled to tell me how I can spend my nights.” Moira glanced briefly towards Caldwell.

“I promise, I will never threaten you again, or tell you how to spend your nights, please… please forgive me.”

“Then get up.” Moira stepped up and offered the Operator a hand.

Mags refused the Harbinger’s hand, rising on her own before quickly turning away and walking back towards the Parlor with her head held high.

“You think that was a little harsh, boss?” Gage turned to Caldwell.

“I have no tolerance or patience remaining in me to police petty squabbles and infighting.” The Overboss answered, “Each punishment will be harsher than the last until fear conquers their distaste for each other.”

“I told you this would happen if she found out.” Moira rounded on Caldwell. “Two days. It’s been _two days_ and you called her by my goddamn name? What did you expect?”

There was an awkward moment as the six members of the Doomed shuffled anxiously in place. Gage coughed into his fist, slinking away.

“She came upon me in a state of intoxication,” Caldwell answered, hands behind his back.

“I don’t care if she came upon you on your deathbed,” Moira argued. “I _told you_ I didn’t want anyone to know, for this exact reason.”

“Ahem.” Gage coughed into his fist again, “Sorry to interrupt a lover’s quarrel, but… Gunners?”

“My preparations were interrupted by your mutant,” Moira sighed. “Let me get my weapons and I’ll be back.”

Caldwell raised an eyebrow, “Of course but… you say _Goliath_ interrupted you?”

“Mmm. He had some opinions he wanted to share,” Moira replied, before turning and heading back towards her headquarters.

“Can I say something that might get me shot?” Gage turned to Caldwell.

“No promises you _won’t_ get shot.”

“You need to quit drinking and fucking around.”

“Yes to the first.”

* * *

When Moira returned with Witch, their dozen chosen Harbingers, and their Super Mutants, the Banshee seemed to have regained her composure. Gage had left, leaving Caldwell waiting with his six hand-selected agents. “Are we ready?”

“Indeed.” Caldwell answered before turning to the half dozen Doomed lined up behind him, “What of the Gunners?”

“All doomed!” They answered in unison.

“Cute,” Fontayne muttered. Witch stepped on his foot sharply to shut him up.

“Then let’s go.” Moira’s tone was sharp and brisk.

Caldwell’s gaze turned towards Fontayne for a moment, lingering long enough to make the Harbinger sweat before turning and leading the group towards Kiddie Kingdom. As they were passing the gates, Witch spoke up, breaking the tense silence.

“Gage isn’t accompanying us?”

“Gage is staying behind to make sure things run smoothly in my absence.” Caldwell answered without looking back at the Banshee’s second, “Considering this morning’s incident, I thought it best he take the helm, rather than trusting that the peace maintain itself.”

“Right...” Witch glanced sidelong at Moira, but she continued to stare ahead, her jaw set.

“So. Y’all eat people?” One of the Doomed turned back to glance at the Harbingers, “How they taste?”

“Depends on where you take the cut from,” Ellison answered, adjusting the straps of his gas mask as they walked. “Some of it’s surprisingly sweet, but mostly it kind of tastes like a mix of... brahmin and radstag, I’d say.”

“I could’ve told you that, Skynyrd.” Another Doomed turned to his fellow, “But they’re right. Best is when you get bacon from-”

“Share recipes later,” Caldwell interrupted.

Ellison gave the curious Doomed a quick wink before pulling his mask back on.

“Those Pack brutes tasted gamey as all hell, though,” Fontayne interjected after another moment of awkward silence.

“God, don’t they?” The second Doomed agreed.

“Chef. Shut up. Work first, recipes later.” Caldwell turned over to the Doomed and fixed him with a glare.

“How many Gunners are we going to be up against?” Moira asked. “I hope this little force of ours isn’t overkill.”

“Preliminary scouting put their number somewhere around… fifty?” A Doomed wearing welding goggles answered, “They’re mostly holed up in an old bombed out house right up by the Rocket.”

“Sounds like we brought just enough,” Witch remarked, though a few of the Harbingers at the back of the group shifted nervously.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. We got more than enough. And I’ll even cook what’s left.” Chef nodded back at the Harbingers.

“We’ll have to _actually_ swap recipes,” Ellison replied. Moira nodded, her hand drifting towards her weapons as they passed between Kiddie Kingdom and the Bottling Factory, leaving the confines of the park behind them.

“Doomed, eyes up and forward. Weapons ready.” Caldwell ordered, “Oculus, get eyes on the Rocket.”

“You got it.” The goggled Doomed pulled out a .50 caliber rifle and peered through the scope, “Hmm. Looks like there’s a few of them at the RR. No more than a dozen. No less than half.”

The Banshee snapped her fingers, and with a quick shift, all of the Harbingers behind her stood tall and stiff, living statues ready for her command.

“Weapons ready,” she echoed, and they drew their weapons quickly, most of them checking the silencers on the ends of their gun barrels, while several drew blades and held them at the ready.

“Oculus, stay back and provide sniper fire. Skynyrd and Chef, stay with him in case the Gunners have brains in their heads and trace the trajectory of his shots,” Caldwell ordered, “The rest of you, move with the Harbingers and I. First we clear the RR, then we move on the house.”

“You know what to do,” was all the direction the Banshee gave.

“Doomed. Harbingers. Kill.” Caldwell commanded.

* * *

“We can make the tithe if we funnel caps from-” Mags paused the discussion she was having with her brother, sniffing a couple times, “So. Mason decided to accept my invitation after all.”

“What makes you say that?” William asked, turning towards the entrance. They indeed had a guest, but he could not see through the crowd of Operators that surrounded them.

“I can smell him from here,” She replied, her voice dripping with disgust, “Remember what we talked about.”

“I know, I know… mouth shut…” William grumbled as Mason approached, flanked by four Operators.

“Mason, so good of you to-”

“What the fuck do you want, Mags?” Mason cut through the false pleasantries, arms crossed. The smile on Mags’ face faltered for a moment.

“I have a proposition to discuss…”

“What, the Overboss not giving it to you hard enough?”

“You watch your-” William stepped forward, but Mags put an arm out to stop him.

“William. Down.” She warned, “Come, Mason. Let’s continue this meeting in private.”

Mags lead Mason out of the main parlor, and down a back hall until they reached the room she used as her office. Taking a seat in a lounge chair, Mags leaned over her desk.

“Now. I wanted to discuss a certain mutual enemy-”

“You mean the Banshee.” Mason’s response was as blunt as the sledgehammer the Elephant has wielded.

“Yes, of fucking _course_ I mean the Banshee.” Mags glared at the Pack Alpha, “She has overstayed her welcome. Everyone knows that your gangs despise each other… and it’ll soon be common knowledge that I don’t like her either. If we’re going to get back at them, we’ll have to cover each other’s tracks and work together.”

“What did you have in mind?” Mason asked, the thought of getting revenge on the Banshee too good of an opportunity to pass up.

“The Overboss and the Banshee are going to clear out the Red Rocket outside of town, and I have it on good authority that they’ll be going back out there to work on turning it into a settlement for those carrion eaters of hers,” Mags spat, “While the Banshee is away, what a shame it would be if an unfortunate… _accident_ were to befall one of her Super Mutants.”

“Hmm. I like the sound of that,” The Alpha grinned, “I can get my boys on board. See if you can’t distract the rest of them though… it’ll be hard for whoever’s left behind to keep tabs on _every_ fire we set.”

“Indeed.” Mags smirked.

* * *

To say it was a bloodbath was a gross understatement. The Harbingers and Doomed slipped like shadows across the ground, while Ellison led the mutants around and waited to bring them in until the chaos and battle began. And by that point, the Gunners stood no chance. The Red Rocket was cleared within two minutes, and despite their fortified position, the house was overrun within the hour.

Moira stood with her foot on the throat of one of the few straggling survivors, and placed a shot between her eyes, splattering her own boots and pants in gore.

“This floor’s clear,” Caldwell announced as he threw away an empty drum of shotgun ammunition, “Next.”

Moira wiped some of the blood from her chin, remnants of one of the Gunner’s she’d taken down when they’d first entered. “Top floor won’t hold the Mutants. Ellison, get Doc and Mutt back outside with the others.”

“Yes, Banshee.” Without hesitation, Ellison had them called back to him and led them out.

Caldwell slammed another drum of ammo into the old combat shotgun he wielded, pointing his chin towards the stairs. Moira fell into step with him, shoulder to shoulder as they headed the approach up the staircase.

“Alright, you sons of bitches,” A voice called from the top floor as the pair climbed the stairs, “Let’s parley.”

Caldwell glanced over to Moira before calling back up the stairs, “Alright. Let’s see how you beg.”

As the pair crested the top of the stairwell, followed by Witch, they found themselves facing a makeshift barricade made from sandbags, tables, chairs, and the armor of fallen Gunners. Behind the wall, three Gunners remained. Two had their rifles aimed at the Banshee and Overboss, but a third stood with his hands above his head and a smug smile on his lips.

“Well, shit,” He laughed, “Of all the people I thought would shoot my guys up, the last person I expected was that little shit from Vault 101.”

Instantly the room’s temperature dropped by twenty degrees as Caldwell slowly pulled the sunglasses off his face. The Banshee raised an eyebrow and glanced briefly at Caldwell, but it took too much of her willpower not to shoot the three Gunners on sight, and so she held her tongue.

“What, you don’t recognize your old pal Vernon?” The Gunner leader continued to smile, “I used to run with Talon Company, remember?”

“Your faces tended to blend together after the hundredth,” Caldwell retorted coldly, “Funny that you people never took the hint that I wasn’t to be fucked with, even as a dazed and confused young man barely out of the Vault.”

“Not to interrupt this trip down memory lane,” Witch spoke up when it was clear Moira would not, “But you wanted to Parley. Start talking to _us_ , asshole.”

“Oh, terms of surrender can wait, I’m having fun right now,” Vernon held a hand out to quiet the Harbinger, “Shit, man, what did Three Dog call you? ‘Friend of the People?’ ‘Hero of the Wastes?’ Look the fuck at you now.”

Caldwell stepped up to the barricade, leaning in towards the Gunner, “I’m going to kill all of you. Your next words had better be an apology, or I will make your death very public, very gruesome, very long, and very, very painful.”

“Fuck you, titty suckin' two balled bitch with a-”

Before the mercenary could finish his insult, Caldwell grabbed him by the neck, pulling him over the barricade. Two gunshots rang out as Witch and Moira both fired, Witch’s bullet striking one Gunner in the eye, while Moira caught her target in the throat. A third gunshot rang out as the one Moira had shot managed to fire off, but it merely grazed her cheek as the Gunner slumped to the floor, gagging and sputtering on his own blood.

With his victim on the ground, Caldwell began to pummel the Gunner leader with heavy fists. Vernon barely bothered to put up a fight, laughing as he took shot after shot and blood began to pour from his mouth and nose. Even for his usual fighting style, this was a level of brutality that Moira hadn’t seen from the Overboss before.

The Banshee holstered her gun, turning to watch the display of violence with a curious expression, while Witch winced with each subsequent blow.  Rather than the loud, public rage that Caldwell usually displayed, the Overboss looked almost detached as he drove his thumbs into the Gunner’s eyes.

“Jesus,” Witch muttered, looking worriedly to Moira, then back to Caldwell. He did his best to communicate that she should say something, the vacant look in the Overboss’s eyes beginning to trouble him.

Vernon’s laughter finally broke to screams of pain and pleads for mercy as Caldwell grabbed him by the ears and repeatedly slammed his head into the wooden floor. After a few solid thumps, the Overboss yanked hard, pulling one ear completely off and the other in half. Through all of this, Caldwell’s expression remained hard, cold, and stoic.

“Moira,” Witch pleaded, gesturing. Moira held up a hand.

“Let him finish killing the bastard.”

The pleading and screaming was very suddenly cut short when Vernon’s head slammed through the floor, parts of the broken wood piercing the back of his head. However, Caldwell’s assault continued, alternating between punches, elbow strikes, and the like. The Banshee gestured for Witch to leave, murmuring for him to make sure the others were alright to head back. Once he’d left, she turned to Caldwell.

“James,” Moira said sternly, taking a step forward to try and break the Overboss’s apparent trance. Caldwell did not respond.

“James,” she tried again, resting a hand on his shoulder.

In an instant, Caldwell launched from his mounted position and threw Moira to the ground, his hands around her neck until his eyes refocused. One of her hands rested on his chest, the other on the hilt of her knife as she stared up at him, expression unreadable.

“Moira?” Caldwell’s voice was quiet as he slowly pulled his hands away from the Banshee’s throat.

“Feel better?” Moira asked, not daring to move just yet. His hands had left crimson streaks of blood across her neck in the shapes of his fingers, and there was a slight tremor in her fingertips.

Caldwell nodded, almost numbly. Her stoic mask broke, brow furrowing in concern. The hand at her waist lifted to rest on his cheek for a moment, and her dark eyes searched his. “Are you certain?”

After a moment, Caldwell’s hands found Moira’s face, pulling her lips towards his for a desperate kiss. The Banshee froze, confused by the sudden affection, remembering Goliath’s words, and Mags’ threats. Sensing the apprehension, Caldwell stopped and pulled away.

“I’m sorry.”

“It was just... unexpected,” Moira replied, nearly cringing at how breathless her voice had suddenly become. Her gaze searched his face again for a moment; they were both covered in gore from the battles that led to this point, and she could see the blood that had been hanging on her mouth now staining his lips. After a breath, she leaned up to seal their mouths in another kiss.

Wrapping his arms around Moira, Caldwell lifted the Banshee off the floor, pushing her against the wall as their kiss deepened. Her legs hooked around his waist, as Moira’s tongue began to press into Caldwell’s mouth, one hand resting on the back of his head.

With Moira anchored around him, Caldwell could focus on the twin belts around the Banshee’s midsection, fumbling with them for a moment before they came undone. Once they were, the Overboss pulled open her buttoned shirt and trailed his tongue and teeth across her bare chest.

“Everyone’s still downstairs,” Moira reminded Caldwell, but she arched into him nonetheless, her hips rocking gently against him, seeking friction.

“They can fuckin’ deal with it,” The Overboss breathed against her skin, “That or Cornell already heard and herded everyone back to the Red Rocket.”

“We should still be quick,” she advised, her hands trailing down his chest to fumble with his belt, trying to remove it without slipping from her position against the wall.

“Fair enough,” Caldwell responded, letting her back onto the floor, “Wanna see how sturdy that table is?”

Moira glanced over to the indicated table; it looked like it had once been used for dining, and a pile of scrap metal took up half of it. “Seems fairly durable.”

Caldwell headed over to the table, swiping his arm across it to clear away the junk. Then he quickly loosened his belt, leaning against the table that rested amongst the barricade as he awaited Moira. The Banshee unfastened and unzipped her jeans, before hopping onto the cleared table.

“Where will you want me to finish?” Caldwell asked, one hand behind his partner’s head, the other hand preparing his length to enter her. Moira considered this, their mostly clothed bodies and the fact that she had plans for her Harbingers to reclaim this structure, which would include cleaning out this room. She sighed.

“In my mouth,” she said, as though each word came with the pull of a tooth.

Caldwell nodded before inserting himself and beginning at a quickened pace. Moira let out a soft gasp, her head tipping back and exposing her neck, still dappled with the faded bite marks he’d left on her just the other night. The Overboss took the bait, leaving a trail of kisses along the Banshee’s throat.

Moira’s hands clutched at Caldwell’s coat, almost desperate to pull him closer as she moved her hips to try and match his pace, allowing each of his thrusts to land deeper. “Fuck. James...”

“Moira…” Caldwell hissed, the hand behind her head pulling her into another kiss as his other hand teased her clit. A shiver rushed through the Banshee and she moaned into the kiss. One hand released his coat to rest against Caldwell’s neck and jaw, holding his mouth firmly to hers.

The hand around Moira’s head moved away to massage and toy with her breasts as Caldwell slammed harder into her. After another moment, Moira’s hand white knuckled on his coat, and she gasped into him as her climax rushed through her.

“Hurry, on your knees.” Caldwell pulled out and pulled Moira to her feet. She knelt quickly, but took care not to scrape the Overboss with her fangs as she took him into her mouth, one hand wrapping around his base to stroke in time with the bobbing of her head.

“Moira… Jesus…” Caldwell gasped, and within moments let out a barely strangled cry as his orgasm hit. The Banshee’s movements slowed, but didn’t halt until he’d ridden out his pleasure. Once he had finished, she pulled away carefully, swallowing the load he’d filled her mouth with.

“Thank you.”

“…You’re welcome?” Moira wiped her mouth and got back to her feet. As she buttoned her shirt back up, the Overboss caught her arm, looking her in the eyes.

“No, I mean it. Thank you,” Caldwell repeated, sincerity in his eyes, “And I’m sorry about… this morning.”

Moira stared back at him, unsure how to respond, or how to receive his gratitude and apology. After a few beats, she finally just nodded. Dressing himself, Caldwell strode towards the stairs, affording the corpse of Vernon a final spit on his way by.

Moira pulled up her pants, and gathered her belts, refastening them as she followed Caldwell back downstairs. She continued to stare at him in confusion, uncertain as to how to react to his vulnerability, his affection. It was uncharacteristic, and Moira had the distinct and uneasy impression that she was walking across a frozen river and the ice had already cracked. What lurked below the ice, however, she couldn’t begin to fathom.

The rest of the house was empty, Caldwell’s earlier prediction apparently true, and the walk back to the Red Rocket was done in silence. At the Harbinger’s newest residence, the gathered raiders appeared to be getting prepared for a barbeque, as Chef of the Doomed and Ellison of the Harbingers had apparently challenged one another in a cook-off. For those opposed to consuming human flesh, several of Nuka World’s local beasts served as a fine replacement, including the meat of mole rats, crickets, and bloodworms.

Witch lingered at the edge of the gathering, eyes nervously scanning the house as he smoked a cigarette. As the two bosses arrived, the Harbingers’ second in command stood from the barrel he’d perched on to meet them halfway.

“You both good?” He asked, looking mostly at Moira, trying to determine if the new streaks of blood on her were from her own veins.

“I’m fine,” Moira replied, glancing at Caldwell for his agreement.

“Nothing to concern yourself with,” Caldwell nodded, before turning to the Banshee, “Excuse me, I need to confer with the Doomed, choose who stays behind to hold the property with your Harbingers.”

“Of course.” Moira nodded, and watched him walk into the gathering. Witch rested a hand on her neck, wiping away some of the drying blood there.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“If I wasn’t, you would know,” she replied, giving him a gentle shove as she headed towards the Red Rocket.

“Moira.” Witch caught her wrist before she could leave. “You saw what he did back there. You’ve seen how violent he is, and unlike you, he’s violent on a _whim_. He doesn’t respect you. You’re making enemies with Mags, and if you had played your cards wrong before now, you would have made enemies with Scarlett, too. You know I’m all for mind games, but this is dangerous.”

“I don’t need you to lecture me.” Moira jerked her hand away. “I appreciate your concern, Witch, I really do, but I know what I’m doing.”

Before he could protest, she stalked off towards the Red Rocket and quickly engaged herself in conversation with some of the Harbingers. Witch felt his jaw clench, and wondered, for the first time, if maybe he should have been the one in charge. His eyes caught onto Caldwell, still removed from the crowd, and he crossed to the Overboss.

“Hey. We need to talk.”

Caldwell slowly turned to Witch, “Do we, now?”

“Yeah, we do.” Witch squared his shoulders, the feathered mantle and cloak he wore making him look a little more imposing.

“You do realize that people stopped caring once the bombs fell, right? You don’t need to ask my permission to pursue a relationship with Gage.” Caldwell replied.

“We need to talk about Moira.” Witch glared, trying to appear unaffected by Caldwell’s remarks.

“Well.” Caldwell’s lips turned up ever so slightly at the corners, “I wasn’t aware that _I_ , the _Overboss_ , needed _your_ permission to fuck your boss… who by the way, has consented to said fucking. Or did she do that without your permission?”

“It’s not about my permission.” Witch spoke through clenched teeth, trying hard to stay level headed and speak without letting his anger best him. “It’s about the fact that if anything happens to Moira because of you I will burn Nuka World to the ground.”

“Interesting.” Caldwell pulled the sunglasses off his face, “ _You_ would burn all of Nuka World to the ground. Did you know taking Nuka World was Gage’s dream? You’d burn _his_ dream to the ground to wound _me_?”

“I’d burn his dream down to kill you,” Witch replied without hesitation. “You need to talk to your bedfellows and make sure they all understand where they stand with you, and with one another. Because this shit needs to stop. Or do you get off on these women trying to kill each other over you?”

“You know…” Caldwell stepped chest to chest with Witch, “You should really think about what it is you’re saying. I pulled out Vulpes Inculta’s tongue for lying to my face and I crucified him for trying to pull a coup. You had best tread carefully, little bird. There’s only so much that a dragon will tolerate before he burns you.”

“That’s all well and good,” Witch replied, unfazed, “but you’re a man. Like I am. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter how tall you build your throne. And I’m speaking to you man to man. Moira is my family, and if your fucking around and inability to leash your fucking pets gets her killed or hurt, I will stop at nothing to repay the favor.”

Caldwell glared down at Witch for a moment before returning his sunglasses to their rightful place, “I never had any intention of hurting Moira, and in light of this morning’s incident, positions will be made clear. But if you threaten me ever again, you will _not_ walk away unscathed.”

“Then I’m glad we understand one another,” Witch replied. “Let’s both keep this conversation in mind moving forward.”

With that, the feathered Harbinger turned his back on the Overboss and rejoined the gathering.

* * *

“-Now I was still in the Pack at the time,” Chef continued as he stirred a pot of stew, “But I mean, meat’s meat, and what better way to honor your dead friend than to carry them in you?”

“People are too picky,” Greyson agreed, the Harbinger perched on a short stack of crates nearby. “Nothing goes to waste, and you live another day.”

“Look, if I’m starved, an’ it comes down to it, I’ll eat somebody,” Skynyrd spoke around a mouthful of food, “But I ain’t gonna just eat a dude all willy-nilly.”

“What do you think you’re eating now?!” Chef turned over to his fellow, a wide grin on his face. The room burst into laughter as Skynyrd dropped his plate onto the workbenched he’d been leaned against, spitting out what was in his mouth as he dry heaved.

“It’s molerat… but the look on your fuckin’ face!” Chef cackled. Skynyrd glared.

“Yeah, just watch yerself,” he muttered, grabbing his beer to wash out his mouth.

Moira’s eyes finally drifted away from the others to where the Overboss leaned by the door. Witch was launching into another story, and she took the opportunity of his distraction to quietly make her way to Caldwell.

“How are you?” She asked, tone as aloof as ever as she leaned beside him.

“Concerned? Touching.” Caldwell smirked at her as he watched the Doomed interact with the Harbingers.

“Just making sure you’re at the top of your game if we need you.” Moira reached over and took the nearly finished Quantum from his hands, taking a sip.

Caldwell chuckled, “Of course I am.”

“Good.” Moira passed the cola back and then lowered her voice so only he could hear her, “Because I need you.”

Caldwell cast one more glance around the garage before nodding away from the room, walking towards the outside. Moira let him leave ahead of her, then quietly made her way out after him and into the night.

“ _You_ need _me_?” Caldwell repeated once they were away from the Red Rocket.

“‘Want,’ is perhaps the more accurate word,” Moira replied with a shrug. “I want you. Now.”

“Tell me all about it.”

Moira raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms impatiently. “I want to go back up to the house and have my way with you while there’s no one out here to give me grief for it.”

“Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?” Caldwell quoted as they approached the ruined house where the Gunners made their last stand. Moira paused, recognizing the words from a song RedEye had played a few weeks ago in the dead of the night. A smirk tugged at her lips.

“Will he offer me his mouth?” Moira asked, meeting Caldwell’s gaze. Her eyes almost seemed darker than usual, shaded by lust.

“Yes.” He answered as they reached the door.

“Will he offer me his teeth?” Moira’s voice was nearly a purr.

“Yes.” He answered as he pushed the door open.

“Will he offer me his jaws?” Moira stepped inside, pulling Caldwell in behind her by his coat.

“Yes.” He answered as he followed. The Banshee pulled them into what had been used as the bunk room.

“Will he offer me his hunger?”

“Yes.” He answered as he shed his coat like a snake would its skin. She caught his chin in her hand and pulled his face close to hers, staring into his eyes.

“Again, will he offer me his hunger?”

“Yes.” He answered, cupping her cheek in his hand. She smiled, her teeth glinting.

“And will he starve without me?” Moira leaned close, but kept her mouth mere centimeters from his.

“Yes.” He answered before closing the gap.

* * *

The next morning the raiding party returned to Nuka Town. Left behind at the Rocket were Chef, Oculus, and Skynyrd of the Doomed and Ellison, Redgate, Callahan, and Greyson of the Harbingers, and all the mutants, save Mutt and Jolly. At the gates, the looming figure of Goliath stood with arms crossed next to Gage.

Upon seeing them there, Witch visibly perked up, offering Gage a smile as they approached. Jolly, on the other hand, wore a wide scowl as they neared the grey mutant.

“Welcome back, Overboss. Banshee. Witch-” Gage nodded to each individual raider before Goliath spoke up.

“I told you.”

“Not now,” both bosses said in unison, before glancing at the other in surprise.

“Uhh… right. Well,” Gage blinked, “I trust everything went well?”

“Exceedingly so.” Caldwell responded, “Prepare work crews to head out tomorrow morning with building supplies. They have the rest of the day to gather the tools they’ll need, as well as any raw materials.”

“I can lend a hand, if you want,” Witch offered. “I know what’s needed.”

“Yeah,” Gage nodded, a phantom smile on his lips, “Having a list of what we’ll need will come in handy.”

Fontayne gave a small snicker of laughter, but before Witch could say anything, another pair of Harbingers walked up to the gate; Moth, holding onto Vulture’s arm as they approached, her steps faltering, but steady.

“Holy shit!” One of the Harbingers gasped. Caldwell offered silent approval, nodding at their approach.

“So, the Red Rocket’s ours?” Vulture asked as they reached the gate.

“It is.” Moira was barely suppressing a smile as she looked to Moth. “But more importantly, you’re on your feet again. That means you can begin training under Fontayne.”

“And her bill of health is one hundred percent _my_ doing!” Brownstone called, trailing behind the Harbinger pair, “Drugs! They fix ya good.”

“Preach,” Witch said teasingly, barely dodging the smack Moira aimed for his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Moira and Caldwell before they got it on the second time was taken from the spoken word intro of "You Took The Words Right Out My Mouth (Hot Summer Night)" by Meat Loaf.
> 
> {Witch is the second of a tiny ass gang who were the last to arrive, who don't own a park, and have done nothing but cause problems, and he gives absolutely no fucks about standing up to Caldwell. He's my feathery son and I love him.}


	25. When The Levee Breaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon joins the Brotherhood of Steel, accompanied by Piper and Simon. Meanwhile, Valentine, Lily, MacCready, and Dogmeat return to Diamond City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Led Zeppelin.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE**

**WHEN THE LEVEE BREAKS**

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

“Paladin Danse. I’m here to join the Brotherhood of Steel.”

Rhiannon tried her best to mask just how utterly painful it was for her to speak those words aloud. Behind her, Simon and Piper nodded along, all smiles to try and make up for Rhiannon’s obvious reluctance.

“Well, I must admit, I’m a little surprised to see you return, civilian,” Danse replied, eyeing the trio, “But I’m glad you’ve decided to join us. Are these also prospective recruits you’ve found?”

“Hi, Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences,” The reporter held out her hand for the Paladin to shake. To his credit, he at least tried, despite wearing power armor, “I’m writing an article on the Brotherhood of Steel, and was hoping to accompany Rhiannon through her recruitment process. Obviously, I’ll be discreet, but it might make you more welcome in the Commonwealth if we, you know, humanize you a little.”

“Hmm,” Danse considered for a moment, “I will have to check in with my superiors, but that sounds like a good idea to me. It would certainly help alleviate confusion regarding our presence in the Commonwealth. Wait right here.”

The Paladin turned and returned to the police station, leaving the trio to mill about in the courtyard. A few Brotherhood soldiers patrolled the barricades that had been set up, but paid little to no attention to them as they kept their eyes peeled for Ferals, Super Mutants, or Synths.

“Hey, remember the time I almost died here?” Simon looked over at Rhiannon.

“You almost _died_?” Piper asked, turning to Simon sharply.

“There was a Behemoth. I put a bunch of bombs in a bus and blew it up.”

“Wha- when was this?”

Simon paused for a moment to think and double check the date on his Pip-Boy, “Mid January?”

“You blew up a Behemoth and almost died in _mid January_ and I am only _now_ hearing about this?!”

“…Yes?”

“Unbelievable. I could have written such a neat piece on that.” Piper tossed up her hands.

“Miss Wright,” Danse returned to the group, “You’ll be pleased to know that my superiors have granted your request. However, you are to be assigned an escort, and must stay away from restricted areas. Failure to comply will result in your immediate eviction from the Prydwen.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Piper said with a mockingly stiff salute. Simon bit the inside of his cheek to try not to laugh.

“And what about you, civilian? Are you hoping to join the Brotherhood of Steel?” Danse’s gaze turned to the mechanic.

“No!” Simon’s immediate answer caused Danse to blink in surprise. Desperately searching his mind for an excuse, Simon merely pointed to Piper, “I’m… with her.”

“ _With_ her?” Danse repeated, raising an eyebrow and looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“They’re engaged,” Rhiannon blurted out. The reporter and mechanic both looked at her, stunned, and the latter looking almost offended.

“Y-yep, that’s right,” Piper said, recovering first. “Engaged. Gonna… have a spring wedding.”

“That’s fantastic,” Danse said, though he sounded as though he couldn’t possibly care less, “How did the two of you meet?”

“I…” Simon scratched the back of his neck, “Fixed her printing press. Or, I mean, that’s where it started…”

“Yep,” Piper confirmed as she wrapped her arms around one of Simon’s. “I thought the whole paper was doomed until Simon here saved it single handedly. Been my hero ever since.”

“Hmm.” Danse looked between Simon and Piper, “Well, I hope the two of you have a happy marriage. Back to business, I have orders to report to the Prydwen. We’ll be taking a Vertibird to the Prydwen, so if you could all follow me to the roof…?”

The Paladin gestured for the group to follow behind, stomping up the steps to the police station. As they entered and ascended another set of stairs, Simon’s hand found Piper’s, intertwining his fingers with hers. The reporter, sensing the subtle trembling in his hand, gave his a gentle squeeze.

Once on the roof, the party of three watched Danse climb aboard the Vertibird, taking a position near the back.

“Ladies first?” Simon offered.

“Scared of heights?” Piper teased.

“Of flying,” Simon replied, his grip on her hand tightening a little.

Giving the mechanic a sympathetic glance, Piper led Simon to the Vertibird, allowing him to help her into the aircraft. Simon took the centermost seat, buckling up and gripping whatever he thought could save him in the event of a crash. Piper took the seat beside his, laying a hand over his.

“The minigun in front of you is fully loaded and ready to fire,” Danse informed Rhiannon as she climbed aboard and took the gunner position, “If you spot anything hostile during the flight, I suggest you put it to good use. Make sure you properly identify your targets before you start shooting. We don’t want to have any mishaps and fire upon the locals.”

With that, the Vertibird lifted off and into the air.

* * *

“Woof!”

“Yeah, you’re right. It _is_ good to be back…” Valentine sighed as he, MacCready, Lilith, and Dogmeat descended the stairs leading to Diamond City.

“Do you think they’re gonna be okay?” Lily asked, looking over her shoulder for what must have been the four-thousandth time.

“They’re gonna be just fine.” MacCready gave her shoulder a squeeze, “So. What do _we_ do while we wait for them to meet back up with us?”

“Bark!”

“Stop trying to make fetch happen.” The rifleman rolled his eyes.

“We could always check and see if there are any open cases at the agency,” Valentine spoke up, “We may as well, since we’re already going there to drop off our supplies.”

“Hell yeah, I got left out of the detective-ing last time.” Lily grinned. “And I already have the coat.”

Valentine paused, “We’re gonna have to make some alterations to your… uhh… _outfit_ if you’re coming with us.”

“Hey, Nick!” Nat waved at them from atop her newspaper stand, “Hey Mr. MacCready, hey Lily!”

“Hey, kid,” MacCready replied with a wave of his own. “How’s the weather up there?”

“Paper sales are doing pretty good,” Nat stepped off the stand, nodding to Valentine and MacCready, “Thanks again for doing an interview about the Earl Sterling case. People seem pretty glad it’s not the Institute’s fault… hopefully they don’t let their guard down and get _snatched_.”

“Yeah.” Lilith dragged out the word, shifting uncomfortably.

“Hey…” Nat looked around, realizing it was just the trio and the dog who had returned, “Where’s Piper?”

“Piper, Rhiannon, and Simon are investigating the Brotherhood of Steel,” Valentine said, crouching down to speak conspiratorially with the young newsie. “They’re hoping to be out of there as soon as they can.”

“Wow… that’s gonna be one hell of an article!”

“Your sister can take care of herself, no problem,” Lily ruffled Nat’s hair, “ _And_ she has Simon and Rhiannon there to back her up.”

“Isn’t Simon the one who can’t shoot straight? And complains about everything? And doesn’t like talking to new people or doing new things or-”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s Simon,” Lilith interrupted.

“Don’t worry, Rhiannon’s capable enough for three people,” MacCready assured Nat.

“Yeah, she _is_ pretty cool. Almost as cool as Piper.” Nat shrugged, clearly won over by MacCready’s assurance.

“Well, we’re gonna head over to Nick’s,” Lily said. “You keep out of trouble, Nat. And come find us there if you need anything.”

“Will do.” The newsie nodded before returning to her stand and resuming her sales pitch at top volume, “Extra, extra, read all about it! Earl Sterling murdered by crazy doctor!”

“Well… at least she’s enthusiastic about her job,” Valentine remarked dryly as they headed towards the agency.

“How do you think they’re doing?” Lily asked again. MacCready rolled his eyes.

“Oh my _God_ , Rook. There’s nothing to worry about. They’re just _fine_.”

* * *

“AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Simon continued to scream, though his throat was raw by this point. His knuckles were white and his eyes squeezed shut as he shook in his seat.

“Simon. Simon, relax. We’ve docked.” Piper carefully pulled her hand out of Simon’s vice-like hold. Eventually, the mechanic stopped screaming, and began to take deep breaths.

“Sorry. Last time I was in a Vertibird, things did _not_ go well.” He replied hoarsely.

“We’ve been docked for two minutes,” Rhiannon said, finally uncovering her ears.

“I was the only survivor of that flight.” Simon offered little clarification, “Can we… hurry this up… preferably before I get sick again?”

“Yeah, that’d be for the best,” Rhiannon glanced over at Danse, who waited impatiently on the deck of the Prydwen, the boots of his power armor covered in Simon’s breakfast.

“You go ahead. Just… give me a minute.” Simon waved the general off, “Piper, do you have water?”

“Let me check.” The reporter dug through her satchel, eventually pulling out a Nuka Cola. “I have this?”

Simon paused, “It’ll do.”

Giving Simon time to sit and recover from their flight, Rhiannon fell in behind Danse, who marched towards a man with a captain’s hat, the Brotherhood of Steel insignia embroidered on the front.

“Permission to come aboard, sir?” Danse asked, saluting the man by holding a fist against his chest.

“Permission granted, and welcome back Paladin. Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on a successful mission.” The man returned the salute, “Is this our new recruit?”

“Yes sir,” Danse responded, “I’ve field promoted her to Initiate, and I’d like to sponsor her entry into our rankings personally.”

“Yes… we’ve read your reports…” The man said with a touch of hesitancy, “You’ll be pleased to know that Elder Maxson has approved your request, and placed the recruit in your charge.”

“Thank you sir,” Danse bowed his head slightly, “And my current orders?”

“You are to remain on the Prydwen and await further instructions.”

“Very good, Sir.” Paladin Danse saluted, “Ad Victoriam, Captain.”

“Ad Victoriam, Paladin.”

With that, Danse stomped away, towards the entrance to the belly of the beast. The captain of the vessel turned towards Rhiannon, eyeing her up and down with a frown on his face.

“So. You’re the one Paladin Danse has taken under his wing. Hmph. You don’t look much like a soldier to me.”

“Well, to be honest, I’m used to giving orders, not receiving them,” Rhiannon replied as politely- or at least as flatly- as she could. “I’m a General for the Commonwealth Minutemen.”

“Paladin Danse indicated as such…” The captain said flippantly, “ _But_ appearances can be deceiving, which is why I personally insist on scrutinizing every recruit who boards this vessel. I’ve read Paladin Danse’s reports. He seems to think you’ll make a fine addition to the Brotherhood. You might expect an endorsement like that to grant you a great deal of latitude with us, but let me make one thing clear:

“The Brotherhood of Steel has traveled to the Commonwealth with a specific goal in mind. As the captain of this vessel, I won’t allow _anyone_ to jeopardize our mission, however important they _think_ they are. _Understood_?”

Rhiannon inhaled through her nose, but before she could formulate a scathing response, she imagined Dogmeat tugging her sleeve, his tail wagging as he reminded her to be polite. Unclenching her jaw, she simply said, “Understood.”

“Good.” The captain nodded, “Your orders are to proceed to the Command Deck for Elder Maxson's address, after which he wishes to have a word with you. If you have any questions ask now, otherwise you are dismissed.”

“Alright, I think we calmed our difficult flyer’s nerves.” Piper’s voice carried over as she and Simon caught up with Rhiannon.

“You must be the reporter that Paladin Danse radioed us about.” The captain turned to Piper, neither saluting nor offer his hand to shake.

“Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences,” she confirmed with a nod, “What was your name?”

“Lancer-Captain Kells,” The man responded, “I would like to take this opportunity to reiterate that you are to remain with your chaperone at all times and under no circumstances enter any restricted area or zone. Do I make myself clear, Miss Wright?”

“Absolutely… yes, sir…” Piper said, giving Rhiannon a glance to try and wordlessly communicate her distinct impression that the captain had a stick of impressive length shoved up his ass.

“Good. Then allow me to introduce you to your escort.” Lancer-Captain Kells whistled sharply.

A younger looking woman with a rounded face, wavy blond hair, and an ugly scar marring the right side of her face stepped forwards. She offered Simon and Piper a wide smile, her energy much higher than the people around her.

“This is Scribe Morse. She has graciously offered to take you on a tour throughout the Prydwen and answer any questions you may have about the Brotherhood of Steel.” Kells gestured to the blonde.

“Call me ‘Cherrybomb,’” the woman said, holding out her hand to them. “Or ‘Cherry.’ Most people do.”

“Hi… ‘Cherrybomb.’” Simon nervously shook the woman’s hand, “I’m Simon, and this is… my fiancée. Piper.”

“Good to meet you both!” Cherry spoke quickly, and her energy reminded Rhiannon of one of her college friends who had always been over-caffeinated and rarely slept. “I’ll be making sure you both keep your noses clean while you get what you need for your newspaper.”

“So, is it alright if they attend Elder Maxson's address?” Rhiannon asked, glancing between Kells and Cherry.

“Provided that under no circumstances sensitive information is leaked-”

“Of course!” Cherry interrupted. “I’m sure he’ll be going over our purpose here in the Commonwealth, and that’ll be important for the people below to be aware of. It should encourage them to help where they can when they understand we’re here for their well being.”

Lancer-Captain Kells glared at the Scribe, but apparently decided not to chastise her in front of the press, “If that’s all, then you are dismissed, Initiate…? I apologize, _‘General,’_ Paladin Danse’s report lacked a surname.”

“DiMaggio,” Rhiannon replied, not missing the sarcastic inflection given to her title. “General Rhiannon DiMaggio.”

Kells blinked twice at the name, and Cherry quirked her head curiously. The two Brotherhood members shared a momentary glance before Kells spoke up again.

“Initiate DiMaggio. Ad Victoriam.” Kells saluted Rhiannon with a fist to his chest.

“Ad Victoriam,” Rhiannon repeated, with much less certainty.

* * *

“Ellie? Are you in here?” Nick called as he pulled open the door to his agency. Lilith, MacCready, and Dogmeat filed in after him.

“Just eating,” The secretary called back from around the corner, “How was Bunker Hill?”

“Do we have any notes on a Caldwell family?” Nick called back, ignoring the question.

“Caldwell?” The sounds of cutlery being put down were shortly followed by Ellie’s footsteps as she returned to the front, looking through a file cabinet.

“You didn’t have to quit your lunch break,” MacCready remarked, dropping into one of the desk chairs.

“Got it,” Ellie held up a file folder, passing it to Valentine. The Synth opened the contents, sitting down at his desk to look them over. Lilith and Dogmeat settled on the sofa against the wall, neither of them looking particularly interested in this line of exploration.

“Hmmm…” Valentine looked over the case file, “James Caldwell Jr., or ‘Jay-Jay,’ the ‘Lone Wanderer,’ or a plethora of other nicknames and titles, was born in Rivet City, and grew up with his father, James Sr., in Vault 101. James Sr.’s sudden disappearance prompted James Jr. to leave his Vault to find him. And what follows is a novel’s worth of adventures and exploits… some true, some false, and some in-between.”

“Like what?” Lilith looked over, almost reluctantly finding her curiosity peaked.

“Well, aside from the one that _everyone_ knows, he disarmed an atomic bomb sitting in the middle of the town of Megaton,” Valentine read some of the reports he’d gathered, “Killed a town’s worth of fire-breathing ants, joined the Brotherhood of Steel to crush the Enclave, and he wiped out the Capital Wasteland’s biggest slaving operation.”

“I remember that,” MacCready spoke up, “I told him to fuuu… frick off when he wanted into Little Lamplight, unless he brought some of my friends back from Paradise Falls. Then he went right ahead and did. Killed every last one of those slavers.”

“Apparently, he also stole the declaration of independence.” Valentine added.

“The what?” Lily and Dogmeat both quirked their heads.

“Some piece of Pre-War paper.” MacCready rolled his eyes.

“Apparently, some time after James Sr. passed away, his good samaritan streak ran dry, and he left DC.” Valentine reached the end of his page, “Since then, only sporadic reports of sightings and rumors of his whereabouts. So why would the Lone Wanderer of Vault 101 disappear… and reappear running a caravan company?”

“I mean, Cready used to be a mayor and now he’s a gun for hire.” Lilith shrugged. “He probably needs caps. People will do anything to keep food on the table and their pockets full.”

“Yeah… that’s what some of these reports… uhh… suggest,” Nick replied, eyeing the notes on the town of Andale.

“I wonder if he’s _really_ running caravans,” Lilith mused, reaching over to give Dogmeat a scratch.

“What do you mean?” MacCready asked, “I mean, when I met him he was a little… cold, but he was _still_ a good guy.”

“Well, yeah, it’s just… the chick in Bunker Hill Nick and Piper were talking about. Kinda reminds me of the people in the gang I ran with for a few months. The Operators.”

“The Operators, huh?” Nick returned to the file folders, flipping through tabs.

“Yeah. They were all about the caps, which is why I figured I’d be a good fit. They used to sneak around, infiltrate markets and all kinds of places to get what they wanted. They were dicks though, so I bounced around the time they got settled in to Nuka World. Easy enough to lose track of one gal in a big move like that.”

Nick hummed in agreement, having found the file and given it a cursory glance, “That sounds about right. Glad you got out of the Raider game, Ms. Rook.”

“You and me both,” Lily replied.

“So… you think that this miser saleslady is… _like_ an Operator, and she works for Caldwell?” MacCready tried to put puzzle pieces together in his head.

“There’s a lot that could mean,” Valentine shrugged, “Could be that she’s an ex-raider who’s a little greedy. Could be that the Operators are infiltrating his caravan company… or…”

“Or he’s an Operator, maybe?” Lily suggested. “I mean, he seems like he’s got an impressive resume so it wouldn’t be hard to rise up through the ranks. The leaders of the Operators... well, William was dumb as a box of rocks, and Mags was pretty easy to impress if you were sweet on her.”

“Maybe, but…” The Synth returned to his file folder, pulling out one labelled ‘Nuka World,’ “According to the reports I’ve heard on Nuka World, three gangs, your former friends included, sieged the place about a year or two ago, then just… did nothing. All of a sudden, I start hearing things here and there about the place… so that means that either their guy in charge got off his ass, or someone new joined the table and started making moves.”

“What are you saying Nick?” MacCready stood up, “You can’t _really_ think that Caldwell’s involved with those assholes, I mean, he wiped out a town of slavers, why would he throw his hat in with them now?”

“Caps make people desperate,” Lilly reminded him. “I fell in with Raiders to make caps, you fell in with the Gunners. People gotta survive somehow.”

“The real question here is, what would drive James Caldwell Jr., a former paragon of virtue, into working with raiders?” Valentine wondered aloud.

* * *

Cherry led Rhiannon, Simon, and Piper into the interior of the Prydwen. Guiding them around the set of stairs that descended to the bridge and the ladder that ascended to the rest of the ship, the Scribe stopped at the doorway of what looked like an observation room of some kind. Inside, a number of Brotherhood personnel stood at attention, waiting for their leader’s speech to commence.

Cherry took her spot among the other Brotherhood members, though standing near her, Simon could see she was bouncing slightly in place, while the others held a the still stances of soldiers. Finally, after another two minutes, the lone figure at the far end of the room turned around to face his audience.

Elder Maxson, Rhiannon noted, was… _young_ . Despite the scars across his face and the thick beard that covered the lower half of his face, the man couldn’t have been out of his early twenties. _This_ was the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel?

“Brothers and Sisters, the road behind us has been long and fraught with difficulty.” Maxson spoke in a commanding, but earnest and personable voice, “Each and every one of you has surpassed my expectations by rapidly facilitating our arrival in the Commonwealth. You have accomplished this amazing feat without a hint of purpose or direction, and most impressively, without question.”

 _‘Because they don’t have the brain cells to ask questions,’_ Rhiannon thought, fighting every ounce of her being that wanted to roll her eyes. Beside her, Simon tapped her toe with his, silently communicating that he felt the same.

“Now that the ship is in position, it is the time to reveal our purpose and our mission.”

Piper’s pen was poised above her notepad, as she stared at Maxson eagerly.

“Beneath the Commonwealth, there is a cancer known as ‘The Institute,’ a malignant growth that needs to be cut before it infects the surface.” Maxson continued, beginning to pace back and forth in front of the window behind him, “They are experimenting with dangerous technologies that could prove to be the world’s undoing for the _second_ time in recent history. The Institute Scientists have created a weapon that transcends the destructive nature of the atom bomb.”

Piper’s eyes widened with an audible gasp, and Simon and Rhiannon shared a quick glance.

“They call their creation the ‘Synth,’ a robotic abomination of technology that is free-thinking and masquerades as a human being. This notion that a machine can be granted free will is not only offensive, but horribly dangerous. And like the atom, if it isn’t harnessed properly, it has the potential of rendering us extinct as a species.”

Piper’s grip on her notebook and pen tightened, jaw clenching and shoulders tensing; even her own writing had never had quite this same hostility to it.

“I am not prepared to allow the Institute to continue this line of experimentation.” Maxson slammed his fist against his palm, “Therefore, the Institute and their ‘Synths’ are considered enemies of the Brotherhood of Steel, and should be dealt with swiftly and mercilessly.”

Simon inhaled sharply, trying to keep himself from speaking out against the Elder’s words, and Piper’s pen clattered to the floor. Rhiannon felt her throat constrict, a knot in her stomach. All three minds drifted to the same name…

_Nick Valentine._

“This campaign will be costly and many lives will be lost. But in the end, we will be saving humankind from its worst enemy... itself. Ad Victoriam!” Maxson shouted to the room, saluting with a fist to his chest.

“Ad Victoriam!” The attendees shouted back, returning his salute.

As Maxson turned back to gaze out the window over the Commonwealth, the audience began to shuffle out of the room, returning to whatever duties they were assigned to. Cherry lingered, smiling widely at the trio that she had lead in.

“He’s so inspiring, isn’t he?” She said quietly, before giving Rhiannon a push towards him. “You should introduce yourself.”

“He… uhh… apparently wanted to speak to you,” Simon added, trying his best to keep his voice level as he picked Piper’s pen from the floor and returned it to her.

“Yeah, sure.” Rhiannon sounded as if she’d rather jump off the Prydwen, but approached Maxson anyways.

“I care about them, you know,” Maxson spoke, seeing Rhiannon reflection in the glass, “The people of the Commonwealth.”

“If you cared about them, you'd leave them to their own devices.”

“Leaving them to their own devices is what reduced this metropolis to ruins in the first place. I'm a bit surprised that you don't realize that by now.” Maxson turned around to face the General.

Rhiannon folded her arms and, before she could stop herself, said, “You’re not going to convince me you’re right.”

Maxson’s eyes hardened a touch as his eyes scanned the Initiate who spoke out against him, “Yet despite that, Paladin Danse still feels you'd be an asset to the Brotherhood. Seeing as he's one of my most respected field officers, you couldn't get a better recommendation.

“Therefore, from this moment forward, I'm granting you the rank of Knight.” Maxson continued, “And, befitting your title, we're granting you a suit of Power Armor to protect you on the field of battle. Wear it with pride.”

“A knight? What is this, the dark ages?”

Maxson’s head snapped towards Simon, who paled upon realizing he’d spoken aloud. The Elder glared at the mechanic, “Judging from the state of the world, it wouldn't be a stretch to say we're living in that era again.”

Piper openly rolled her eyes, but Cherry had finally lost her cheerful expression as she frowned at Simon. The mechanic glanced over at the Scribe, mouthing an apology before his eyes fell to the floor.

“In any event, once you're finished becoming familiar with the Prydwen and my staff, report to the Flight Deck for your new orders. Welcome aboard the Prydwen, soldier. Make us proud,” Maxson saluted Rhiannon, “Ad Victoriam.”

“Ad Victoriam,” Rhiannon repeated, sounding like she’s swallowed a lemon. Turning away, she headed back to her friends, and Cherry lead them out of the room, leaving Maxson alone.

“Get good notes… honey?” Simon asked Piper, slinging an arm around her shoulder and hoping the fact that his hands were shaking could be attributed to his brief encounter with Maxson.

“Sure did, sweetie,” Piper replied, patting his chest. She tucked her notebook away, giving Rhiannon an ‘I hope you’re happy’ look.

“Have you guys eaten?” Cherry interrupted, walking backwards so she could face them while she spoke. “We should go to the Mess Hall for lunch.”

“Food would be great,” Simon replied, “I mean… I was airsick on the way here so…”

“Yeah, I though Danse smelled a little worse than usual.” Cherry grinned. “Nice aim.”

“The only time anyone will ever say that to you,” Piper teased Simon with a gentle elbow to his ribs.

“Ha ha, you’re so funny,” Simon deadpanned.

“Well, come on! It’s just up here.” Cherry guided them towards the ladder, “Guests first!”

* * *

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

“Two orders,” MacCready held up two fingers for the noodle vendor as he leaned against the counter.

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?”

“Please.” MacCready rolled his eyes.

“Nan-ni-”

“Ni,” Lilith interrupted, also holding up two fingers. After a second, the bot whirred and began to package up their order. Leaning to MacCready, she whispered, “Christ, this thing is busted. Wonder who I gotta talk to to get someone to let me and Simon dig around in his wires.”

“McDonough won’t let’cha,” A man in a green, blue, and brown flannel shirt with rubber overalls responded as he slurped his noodles from a nearby stool, “Says that his ‘lil glitch is ‘culturally significant’ or somethin.’ I know, I asked. Fuckin’ mainlanders…”

“Well, hell, I’ll do it without McDonough’s approval,” Lily scoffed, completely ignoring MacCready’s protests.

“Yeah, sure y’will ‘lil missy. You’ll hop right on o’er the counter, and fuck wit the town mascot without gettin’ spottered by them DCS hardarses.” The man scoffed, pulling out a dark bottle and taking a long swig.

“Please stop telling her what she can’t do,” MacCready pleaded, seeing an all too familiar gleam in his partner’s eye.

“Oh, I don’t give a damn, either way, I’m jus’ hopin’ to have some good seats when shit goes an’ hits the fan,” The man shrugged, running his hand through his scruffy brown hair.

“I’m gonna do it,” Lilith said softly, reaching for her belt.

“No you’re not.” MacCready caught her wrist with one hand and took the noodles from the robot with the other. “We are going back to Valentine’s to eat these noodles.”

“Aww, hell, Mainlander, DCS was watchin’ an’ everythin!’” The man laughed, taking another long swig from his dark brown bottle.

“Yeah, well, if you’re still in town when my boyfriend gets back, then you’ll have something to see. He’s a whiz with robots,” Lily said proudly, as MacCready led her away.

“Yeah, whatever y’say, girlie… whatever y’say.” He chuckled.

“So. ‘ _Boyfriend_ ,’ huh?” MacCready asked as they turned the corner into the alleyway outside of Valentine’s Detective Agency.

“Oh... yeah, Simon and I had a talk when we were helping out Travis.” Lilith tugged on her sleeve, looking almost shy. “We uh… we decided to try being… you know… a thing.”

“A ‘thing?’” MacCready repeated back, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah! You know. A thing. Like, a _thing_ thing.”

“And you’re _sure_ that it’s a good idea?” The rifleman asked, “Because if I recall-”

“Yeah, it’s not like that,” Lily cut him off. “It’s not some scavver, or asshole caravaneer. It’s… it’s Simon. He’s got a good heart.”

MacCready looked as if he were about to say more, but instead took a deep breath, “Alright, Rook. If it all goes to shh…hell, I have the right to say ‘I told you so.’”

“Deal.” Lilith nodded, before opening the door and immediately being pounced upon by a German Shepherd. “Oh, shit! We should have gotten another bowl of noodles.”

“I don’t think he eats noodles.”

* * *

“So that’s how I got the nickname,” Cherrybomb finished, smiling as she watched Piper diligently note down her story.

“Wow.” Simon blinked, “I mean… _wow_.”

“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents.”

The Mess Hall was well-populated, but not packed as the Scribe, reporter, Knight, and mechanic sat together at the table closest to the door, the only one that had been empty at the time. Various Brotherhood personnel wandered past or stopped for food and drink, nearly all of them wearing the same orange and grey jumpsuits. Some wore bomber jackets over their jumpsuits, not unlike the one that Cherry wore.

As people filtered in and out, Rhiannon picked at her food, but didn’t exactly have the appetite for it. Simon and Piper had ended up scavenging about half the food she’d brought back to the table, and she was considering offering them the rest the clanking of Power Armor caught her attention.

Paladin Danse approached their table, still armored, but he’d clearly washed off the boots.

“There you are,” The Paladin nodded, “How did it go with Elder Maxson?”

“Maxson seems so… young compared to everyone else,” Rhiannon hesitated to speak her mind, “Are you… _okay_ with that?”

“Don’t let his age fool you,” Danse smirked, “Maxson is a brilliant tactician, a formidable warrior, and possesses an idealistic vision for the future of the Brotherhood. I’d follow him _anywhere_ , without question.”

“He’s a very… _dedicated_ man,” Rhiannon chose her adjective carefully, “It sounds like he stands behind everything he’s saying.”

“Of course he does. How could he afford not to?” Danse responded, “I just hope you appreciate how much of a chance I’m taking, bringing you into the fold this quickly. Not to put too fine a point on it… if you screw up, we go down together.”

“I think she’ll be fine, Danse,” Cherry interjected, her chin propped up on her palm as she looked up at the Paladin. “Hey, you never told me if you were going to be busy tonight. I was still wondering-”

“Now, I know you’re eager to jump into a suit of power armor and take the fight to the Institute, but first things first…” Danse ignored Cherry’s propositioning, “In order to be an effective part of the team, you need to learn your way around this ship and familiarize yourself with some of the crew. Since I’ve been officially assigned as your sponsor, I should accompany you.”

“-if you... wanted to... okay,” Cherry finished, looking down at the table in discouragement.

“Um... yeah, sure, sounds great,” Rhiannon lied.

“Outstanding,” Danse nodded, despite his voice remaining at it’s natural near-deadpan, “Come this way, we’ll see Proctor Quinlan first.”

As Rhiannon slid out of her seat and followed Paladin Danse back towards the ladder, Cherry let out a soft sigh as she watched him go.

“I really hoped I could talk to him alone,” the Scribe said with a frown. “He’s always so... guarded. Reserved.”

Simon and Piper shared a look, the mechanic coughing into his fist, “Yeah… ‘guarded.’ Sure…”

“So,” Piper spoke up, turning attention back to the interview, “Why did you decide to come to the Commonwealth?”

“Oh, I didn’t decide, really,” Cherry answered with a shrug. “I was told I was coming along, so along I came! But it’s an honor to be here, and to help take down the Institute once and for all. I heard the Commonwealth was just _crawling_ with those Synths and Super Mutants and Ghouls… Have you guys seen any?”

“Nope.” Simon answered immediately, “Never seen a Synth, no ma’am.”

“I mean, maybe?” Piper responded, “There’s… rumors, but nothing’s been confirmed.”

“Wow. Must be a scary way to live, never knowing which of your neighbors is really some kind of machine. It’s a good thing the Brotherhood’s here to eliminate that fear.”

Once again, Simon and Piper shared a nervous look. Slowly, the reporter placed her hand over Simon’s, “Yeah. Good thing.”

“Cherry!” A voice called from the engineering bay down the hall, “My power armor’s left leg ain’t responding again! Can you come check it out?”

“Get one of the other Scribes to do it,” Cherry called back, turning in her seat to face the voice. “I maintain the _weapons_ , not the armor!”

“ _Please_?!” The voice begged, “I gotta report in fifteen minutes!”

“Ugh, _fine_ ! But if I get a write up for stepping outside my jurisdiction, _again_ , then you owe me!” Cherry turned back. “Hey, it’ll just take me a- um... Oh no.”

Simon and Piper’s seats were vacant.

“ _Oh no_.”

* * *

“Folks, I'd like to take a moment for something a little more personal than usual…” Travis’s voice filtered through the radio, “As I'm sure you know all too well, I haven't always been the best at this job. Hey, let's face it: I've been pretty terrible.”

“That’s putting it lightly…” MacCready remarked.

“Shush!” Lilith smacked his arm. “Listen to him! He sounds so confident!”

“Thanks to the efforts of a few of my friends, I've decided to change how I look at things, how I live my life,” Travis continued, “I'd like to just take this opportunity to thank them for lending me a hand. I really do appreciate it…”

“What? He’s not gonna name names?” MacCready’s head fell back against the couch, “How are people gonna know I cleared out a brewery of raiders?”

“ _You_ cleared it out?” Lily scoffed. “I remember there being at least a few of us, Cready. Besides, he _should_ be thanking _me_ for getting him laid!”

“All right folks, that's enough sentiment from me for one day. Let's get back to the music.” Travis coughed, just away from the microphone, “This one goes out to… well, she knows who she is. ‘Rocket 69’ by Connie Allen.”

As the song in question begun to play MacCready nearly spit out his noodles, the choice of song and Lily’s words finally catching up to him, “Wait, _what_ ?! Travis? _Really_?! Who would-”

Lilith, meanwhile, was in stitches, setting her noodles down on Valentine’s desk as she doubled over. “Oh my God! Hell yes, Travis! Hell yes!”

_“Would you like to ride my Rocket Sixty-Nine? Well, would you like to ride my Rocket Sixty-Nine?”_

“I _cannot_ believe this.” MacCready groaned, covering his face with a hand.

“Aw, come on, Cready! You love this song.” Lilith hopped up and pulled the rifleman to his feet. “We used to dance to it every time it came on.”

“We used to do more than _dance_ to this song,” MacCready deadpanned, “And you’ve got a ‘ _boyfriend_ ’ now, and I don’t wanna intrude…”

“Well, _now_ we’re just dancing. Come on, have some fun! You’ve been such a grouch lately.”

“A little smile once in awhile won’t kill ya, kid!” Valentine’s voice called from the back.

“Alright, fine.” MacCready sighed, “Let’s dance.”

Lily beamed at her partner and began a charleston step. Dogmeat watched her feet crossing curiously, his ears perked up and his tail slowly beginning to wag. MacCready took a second before matching her rhythm and falling into step with her.

As Lilith giggled, MacCready cracked a smile and grabbed her hand, spinning her into a dip and then twirling her out to the other side of him. They both went back into the charleston, though he skipped a step and she had to correct to his time.

 _“I'll make you mighty happy that I'm your girl, we'll fly through the sky and go out of this world. I'll bet you sweet papa I can make you feel mighty fine!”_ Lily sang along with the radio, a little breathless.

 _“Rocket Sixty-Nine! Rocket Sixty-Nine!”_ MacCready joined her on the next line, as Dogmeat got to his feet.

“Awoo!” He let out a short howl along to the music, his tail now wagging rapidly.

“You’re a little off-key, buddy,” MacCready chuckled at the dog’s attempt to join in. Valentine leaned in the doorway, watching the two mercenaries obviously practiced choreography. As the song came to a close, MacCready pulled Lily back into one more dip, holding her there as the last note faded out.

As he held his partner, both of them laughing, her eyes bright with joy as she looked up at him, a sudden realization washed over MacCready, one that he had been ignoring for a little too long. Lilith’s smile faltered as the rifleman just stared at her, still barely holding her above the ground.

“Um... Cready?”

“Yeah, Rook?”

“Can you let me up?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” MacCready finally recovered, pulling Lily back up to a standing position, his hand lingering for just another moment before he stepped away.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“Hmm. Wonder who that is.” Valentine moved from his spot on the wall to head for the door, opening it. On the other side, a courier with a satchel full of letters.

“Robert Joseph MacCready? Oh, and Lilith Rook.” The mailman looked past the Synth, “I've been looking for you two. Got something I'm supposed to deliver - your hands only.”

“Really?” MacCready raised an eyebrow, walking over to claim the offered envelope, “Who’s it from?”

“Hancock,” The courier replied, “Said it was pretty urgent it reaches you. Anyway, I gotta go. More deliveries to make.”

With that, the man stepped back out into the alleyway, the door closing behind him.

“Yeah, hello to you too, buddy…” Valentine deadpanned as MacCready tore open the envelope, pulling out the letter within.

“What’s it say?” Lilith leaned over MacCready’s shoulder.

After another few moments, MacCready’s eyes darting back and forth as he read the letter, he suddenly pushed the paper into Lilith’s hands and rushed for the coat rack.

“Slow down, kid, what’s going on?” Valentine asked. Lilith read over the letter quickly and then ran for her coat as well.

“We gotta get to Goodneighbor, as soon as we can… Cait’s sick.”

* * *

“Our first stop will be Proctor Quinlan,” Danse said as they headed away from the Mess Hall, “Go on in, I’ll be along in a moment.”

Rhiannon looked almost like she wanted to protest to going in alone, but quickly thought better of it, and headed in.

“Ah, good, you’re finally here,” A bespectacled man commented as Rhiannon stepped into a messy room lined with books, file folders, and a cat sitting atop a terminal, “Just set the books down anywhere, I’ll get to them when I can.”

“Um… I don’t have any books,” Rhiannon said, puzzled.

“Since it’s obvious that you aren’t who I was expecting, would you mind telling me _why_ you’re here?” The Proctor crossed his arms as he turned to face Rhiannon.

“Elder Maxson requested she meet the crew,” Danse replied.

“Ah yes, the new recruit described in your report!” Quinlan snapped his fingers, “Under normal circumstances, I would give you a proper orientation of my department… however, I’m _woefully_ behind in setting up research patrols, and getting _bombarded_ with requests for Pre-War technical documentation. I’m simply lacking the personnel I need to get the job done.”

“Maybe we could lend you a hand?” Danse volunteered. Rhiannon wished very sincerely for a Stealth Boy. Doing anything more than the required minimum for the Brotherhood sounded like a nightmare to her.

“That would be splendid,” Quinlan smiled, walking back towards his desk to pat the cat that lay atop his computer, “As you patrol the Commonwealth, keep an eye open for blueprints, manuals, memos, books, charts… anything containing useful technical data. I’m authorized to pay you for each bundle of documents you recover. And if you wish to be assigned to a research patrol, I have plenty of them waiting to be filled.”

“Meow.” The cat meowed in protest as the affection from its owner ceased.

“In any event, it was a pleasure meeting you, Knight.” Quinlan saluted.

“Um, yep. You, too.” Rhiannon shuffled out of the room as Danse led her just across the hall.

“Knight-Captain Cade,” Paladin Danse greeted.

“Glad you finally stopped by, soldier,” An older man with buzzed down hair looked up from some notes as Rhiannon stepped in, “Are you ready for your medical exam?”

“My- wait, there’s a medical exam?”

“I’m going to ask you a series of medical-related questions, and I’d like you to answer to the best of your ability.” Knight-Captain Cade pulled a clipboard from a nearby tray and clicked his pen. “Most recruits tend to assume that the first ‘medical exam’ requires petroleum jelly and rubber gloves, but that’s not the case.”

“Well that’s… that’s good.” Rhiannon attempted a smile.

“First question: as a child, were you exposed to radiation for an extended period of time?”

“No,” she answered. These people didn’t need to know her full history.

“Second question: have you ever had or come into contact with a person confirmed to be carrying a communicable disease?”

“I had chicken pox when I was seven?”

“Well, you don’t _appear_ to be suffering from any long-term effects…” Cade muttered as he scribbled notes on his clipboard, “Third question… and _please_ answer honestly… have you ever had sexual relations with any species considered non-human?”

“No. God, no.”

“Good.” Cade responded firmly, “I find the practice highly distasteful myself. Last question: would you have any problems pulling the trigger on an enemy of the Brotherhood of Steel, whether they’re human, formerly human, or machine?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with my medical health,” Rhiannon deadpanned.

“Please answer the question.” Cade responded, impatiently tapping the top of his clipboard with the end of his pen.

“I guess it depends on the situation. Probably not.”

“Good. That’s the most common answer.” Cade’s features seemed to soften a touch as he added the last note to his report, “Excellent. I think I’ve got all the information I need for now. I see no reason to prevent you from beginning your duties immediately. If you need medical assistance, you let me know.”

“Will do,” Rhiannon replied, crossing her arms uncomfortably.

“Come along, Knight. Next we’ll meet with Proctor Ingram and Proctor Teagan,” Danse headed towards the door, his heavy footfalls trailing back towards the Mess Hall. Rhiannon followed out behind him. As they passed through the Mess Hall, Rhiannon couldn’t help but notice that Simon, Piper, and Cherry were no longer present.

Just beyond the Mess was some kind of engineering bay, with several scribes tinkering on weapons, combat armor, and power armor. On the far end, a red haired middle-aged woman in a power armor frame tinkered on a suit of power armor.

“Proctor Ingram,” Danse called as they approached. “May we have a moment?”

“So. You’re the new recruit that I heard about.” Proctor Ingram responded, stepping away from her work and turning off her blowtorch, “Hmm. Not what I was expecting.”

“Most people expect me to be a little taller,” Rhiannon joked.

“Ha!” Ingram chuckled, despite Danse’s sour look, “I like this one. The last bunch of recruits we got were just wastelanders looking for a handout and an easy way out… but you. You’re different.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Against her will, Rhiannon thought she might end up liking Ingram in return.

“It is. Anyway, since you came down here to meet me, I may as well spill the beans,” Ingram shrugged, “As Paladin Danse said, my name’s Ingram, and this lovely grease pit is where you’ll usually find me. If your power armor’s too tight in the crotch, the Prydwen’s about to crash into the ground, or a robot’s gone haywire… you come see me.”

“So this is where I get my power armor?”

“Ha!” Ingram laughed, “That’s what the newbies always ask first… Let’s see… I just fixed up a pretty decent T-60 suit. It’s sitting in Bay Three.”

“And I can just kind of... use it whenever I need it?” Rhiannon asked, perhaps a little too hopefully.

“Yup,” Ingram nodded, “It’s your suit… just don’t go losing it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Rhiannon answered. “You probably don’t need it back on your plate.”

“There isn’t a day that goes by on this tub without five or six things breaking down…” Ingram rolled her eyes, “And since I’m stuck in this rig, I’m not quite as spry as I used to be… the work tends to pile up.”

“Stuck?” Taking a second glance at the power armor frame that Ingram inhabited, she realized that the woman inside was missing both of her legs, “Oh. How did- how did you-”

“That’s a little _personal_ , don’t you think?” Ingram asked irritably.

“I mean, most people in your condition would’ve given up,” Rhiannon raised her hands, backpedaling, “I just want to hear your story.”

Ingram sighed, “Sure. What the hell. I was with the Brotherhood of Steel back in the Capital Wasteland… worked at a staging area for the power armor troops. Our position was along a ridgeline overlooking the battlefield. I’d say it was a hundred foot drop, give or take.

“To make a long story short, the ridge I was standing on took a hit from a nuke. Sheared most of the cliff right off, and caused the platform I was standing on to tumble over the side. I’d’ve been dead if I hadn’t been test-piloting one of the power armor suits at the time, and if Sentinel Cald-”

Ingram stopped herself abruptly, “Anyway, I’m sure you’re eager to get your hands on your power armor. Like I said, it’s over in Bay Three, and if you need any work done on it, feel free to use the workshops around here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”

“Right. Thank you for your time, Proctor.” Rhiannon gave a wave and turned to follow Danse further in, where a man leaned against a counter. The entire room he inhabited was blocked off by thick chain-link walls and a very securely locked door… and the room was absolutely filled with weapons and armor.

“Step forward, Knight,” The man waved her over, “Even though I’m locked in this blasted cage, I promise that I don’t bite.”

“It looks… uncomfortable in there.”

“It’s not _that_ bad.” The man shrugged, “This is the stowage depot, and I, as you may’ve guessed, am the ship’s quartermaster, Proctor Teagan. The powers that be have me locked in here so I can keep an eye on the Brotherhood’s valuables. If you need to stock up on supplies before you head out for a mission, this is the place to buy them.”

“Wait… _buy_ them?” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, “Since when does the military sell equipment to its own soldiers?!”

“Since _someone_ dropped a whole bunch of bombs and blew up every single factory that ever manufactured weapons and ammunition.” Teagan responded through his teeth, “Keeping the Brotherhood supplied takes caps… and _everyone_ contributes to the cause. The good news is by having a constant flow of caps, I can buy whatever you bring me. I’m mostly interested in weapons, but I’ll take anything useful.”

“Well, I’m not much of a scavenger,” Rhiannon admitted.

“Well…” Teagan leaned in conspiratorially, “If you’re just looking to make some caps on the side, I _might_ have some extra work for you to do…”

“What sort of ‘extra work’ are we talking about?” Rhiannon shifted uncomfortably.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no… it’s nothing like you’re thinking,” Teagan responded, “It just involves a little bit of heavy lifting and interacting with the local farms. Since I’m stuck up here manning this one-man zoo, I need someone to do the legwork for me. If you’re interested, you can come back after the meet and greet is over.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Excellent. In the meantime, if you need guns, ammo, or mods… you just let me know.” Teagan leaned back from the bar, clapping his hands against each other.

As Paladin Danse led Rhiannon back towards the Mess Hall and the ladder that led down into the flight and command decks, she wondered just how deep into this whole Brotherhood thing she was going to have to go. Everyone here seemed to have expectations of her involvement, but all she wanted was to take her power armor and find her son.

* * *

“This is _nuts_ . This is fucking _insane_ ,” Simon looked around frantically as Piper combed through file cabinets in the storage area under the main deck, “These _people_ are fucking insane!”

“ _You’re_ the one who told Blue she should join up!” The reporter accused.

“Listen, _my_ experience with the Brotherhood was a bunch of backwards-ass isolationist tech hoarders living in a bunker in the middle of the Nevada desert,” Simon hissed back, “How was I supposed to know they went full fascist out here?!”

“Well, Mr. Man With A Plan, what do we do now?”

“Take the power armor and run?” Simon shrugged, “Check in every so often so they don’t think she deserted? _Shit_ Piper, I don’t know… I didn’t know it was going to be _this_ bad.”

“Well, we have to figure out a way out of this whole mess.”

“Aw, Christ... Piper? Simon?” Cherry’s voice came from just above them, the Scribe’s footfalls heading towards the steps that led down into the storage area.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh Jesus…” Simon panicked, looking around, “What do we do? There’s nowhere to hide!”

“Do you trust me?” Piper asked quickly, grabbing Simon by the arm and pushing him against the wall.

“Yes?” Simon answered, honest but confused and scared.

“Great. Just pretend I’m Lily.”

“Wait, wh-” Simon’s question was cut off as Piper grabbed his face and pulled Simon into a passionate kiss. She pressed herself against him, hooking her ankle around his to pull one of his legs between hers.

“Simo-OH! Oh wow.” Cherry rounded the corner and immediately turned her back to the pair, her face bright red.

“Oh!” Simon broke away, straightening his flannel shirt and adjusting his hat, “Hi… Cherry… sorry we… uhh…”

“We were just looking for a bit of privacy.” Piper smoothed down the front of her jacket, and mirrored Simon in fixing her hat.

“R-right, well, um, please don’t sneak off like that again.” Cherry slowly turned back towards them. “I could have gotten in some _serious_ trouble if I lost two civilians onboard.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Simon looked down at the floor, “I mean… she’s hard to keep your hands off of, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Cherry said slowly. “Well, you two really shouldn’t be down here. We need to go back upstairs now.”

“Fair enough…” Simon sighed, “Hey, uhh… you think Rhiannon’s done the orientation thing?”

“If she is, she’ll be going to meet with Elder Maxson. Let’s get you two back to him and we can wait for her there, okay?”

* * *

A bit of a fog had rolled in over parts of the Commonwealth as Paladin Danse led Rhiannon back onto the flight deck. Passing the rows of docked Vertibirds, the Vault Dweller felt a cold pit in her stomach as they walked to the far end of the flight deck, where Maxson stood watching a battle in progress in the distance.

“Elder Maxson,” Danse saluted, “Our new recruit has finished orientation.”

“Now that you’ve familiarized yourself with the Prydwen’s crew, are you ready for your first assignment, sister?” Maxson asked Rhiannon as he turned to face her.

“As I’ll ever be,” Rhiannon replied.

“Looks like she’s finished!” Cherry led Simon and Piper onto the deck.

“Ah. Our civilian visitors,” Maxson glanced over at Cherry and her guests, “I trust you’ve learned a great deal about the Brotherhood of Steel over the course of your tour?”

“Yeah, it was very... educational,” Piper replied, glancing towards Simon.

“Very good. Now, Knight DiMaggio,” Maxson turned back to Rhiannon, gesturing to the battle in the distance, “I was intending on sending you to Fort Strong below, but as you can see, the situation is under control. And so, I have elected to assign you a different task, one that will put your experience in the Wasteland to good use.”

“What do I have to do?” Rhiannon asked, dreading the answer no matter what it might be.

“Three years ago, we sent Recon Squad Artemis to the Commonwealth,” Maxson reported, “Shortly after their arrival, we lost contact with them, and they have been presumed dead. Your first assignment will be to comb the Commonwealth for any sign of what happened, and their holotags, should the worst have truly come to pass.”

“Which areas were they assigned to? The Commonwealth’s a bigger place than it might look from up here.”

“Unfortunately, we cannot be sure,” Maxson responded with a sigh, “However, your Pip Boy will likely be able to pick up one of the several emergency distress beacons the squad was in possession of. Hopefully, that will help you narrow your search. If you find one beacon, the others may not be too far away.”

“And I’m allowed to take my power armor, right?”

“You are not merely _allowed_ , but _encouraged_ to do so.”

Rhiannon glanced back to Simon and Piper. “Well, alright then. Sounds like something I can handle.”

“Excellent,” Maxson nodded. A plume of smoke rose up from the nearby battlefield and a Vertibird quickly detached from the Prydwen, “Ah. It appears the assault on Fort Strong was successful.”

“Do we have to take a vertibird back down?” Simon asked, his reluctance clear.

“Unless you’d rather take your chances jumping, yes.” Danse glared over at the Mechanic, having not forgiven the earlier incident.

“Elder Maxson,” Piper spoke up. “Maybe before we head out you would allow me to conduct a personal interview?”

“I suppose I can find the time for that.” Maxson responded, his posture straightening just a little bit, “If you’d follow me to my office…”

Simon blinked twice, once to realize what Maxson could be implying, and a second time to remember that he was still pretending to be in a relationship with Piper, “Not without me! I mean, she’s my fiancée…”

Maxson paused, his eyes narrowing at Simon, “Of course. Right this way.”

Maxson led the group back towards the command deck as the Vertibird docked back aboard the Prydwen. As a few Brotherhood personnel stepped off the airship, one of the members in power armor looked towards them, and halted in their tracks.

“Rhiannon?”

Rhiannon stopped dead, her heart skipping a beat. She knew that voice. After a moment, the back of the power armor opened, and a man stepped out. His hair had been buzzed down, and he’d picked up an new scar on his temple, but he still had that same mustache, those same old scars, that same glint in his eyes. She felt dizzy, staring at what could only be a ghost.

“…Vinny?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BOOM GOES THE MOTHERFUCKING DYNAMITE.
> 
> {GUESS WHO'S BACK?! BACK AGAIN!}
> 
> Vinny's back? But how?! And we've got fake dating, and a mysterious man in Diamond City who calls everybody a Mainlander... what does it all mean? What happens next?
> 
> Tune in next time to find out!


	26. Prey For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Caldwell clears the air with his bedmates. Meanwhile, the Harbingers continue to work on the Red Rocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Korn.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY SIX**

**PREY FOR ME**

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

Double checking her appearance in the mirror… for the third time, Mags took a deep breath. The Overboss inviting her to the Fizztop Grille alone? Clearly he intended to apologize for his _horribly_ unfair treatment of her a few days previous. Putting a small dab of perfume behind each ear, she again made sure her hair was in order, and headed out.

As Mags approached the lift that would take her upwards to the Fizztop, she noticed a figure leaning nearby, watching. Nisha had her arms folded, fingers drumming against her elbow as she lurked.

“What are you doing looming around?” Mags inquired, eyeing the Disciple warily.

“Waiting to hear the screaming.” Nisha’s cruel smirk was all that was visible. Mags scoffed, hitting the button and muttering under her breath about voyeurs.

“‘Waiting to hear the screaming,’” Mags mimicked under her breath, as the lift reached the Fizztop Grille, “What a- WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Good morning, Mags.” Moira smiled from her place on the couch, leaning against the armrest with her feet kicked up on Scarlett’s lap.

“Come in, take a seat.” Caldwell beckoned the Operator to the sitting area from his lounge chair, an almost-empty bottle of Quantum to his right, a second, unopened bottle beside it. “We have much to discuss, it seems.”

Mags stood still, her upper body leering away from the trio in the sitting area, looking as though she was about to bolt but had nowhere to run. “You- I- but- you- you invited me here alone.”

“Because you would not have come if I told you the purpose of this meeting,” Caldwell sighed, finishing the first bottle, “If you wish to linger _after_ the meeting… that is to your discretion.”

Moira and Scarlett exchanged a silent look, which left them both trying not to laugh. Mags’ hands curled into fists. “No, I don’t have all day.”

“Then sit.” The Overboss commanded, opening his next bottle of Quantum. After another stiff moment of hesitation, Mags moved to the unoccupied couch, walking like each step could set off a mine.

“Now. The three of you have each shared my bed,” Caldwell started bluntly, “And _apparently_ there’s been some confusion and competition between _some_ of you regarding where each of you stand.”

“ _Some_ of us,” Moira confirmed, reaching over to run her fingers through Scarlett’s hair.

“So let’s make things clear,” The Overboss continued, “Sleeping with me will _not_ fast-track you to success. It will _not_ grant you favoritism. It will _not_ earn you prizes or preferential treatment. It’s an exchange of pleasure, and nothing more. It’s an offer that you may choose to take, or to leave. And it is _not_ a competition.”

“So... that’s _not_ why I got Kiddie Kingdom?” Scarlett asked, unable to hide the surprise in her face.

“You _earned_ Kiddie Kingdom because you took your weak gang and made them strong,” Caldwell answered, “You assimilated the competition, simultaneously eliminating them and making yourselves worthy. Sleeping with me had no effect on your chances.”

“Told you,” the Banshee murmured, as Scarlett sat up a little straighter with pride.

“So we all mean nothing to you, then.” Mags’ eyes narrowed slightly.

“I am certainly _not_ interested in being manipulated into giving anyone more power than they have rightfully earned.” Caldwell stared back at her, his eyes invisible behind his sunglasses, “I am not presently interested in a romance, and even if I were, I would not allow such a thing to compromise my position and grant unwarranted favor to another.”

“And if Mags- sorry, if _we_ have a hard time sharing?” Moira asked, not missing the venomous glare the Operator shot towards her.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about me,” Mags sneered, getting to her feet. “I’m done here.”

“It seems I’m not as easily played as you seem to think I was.” Caldwell remarked as the Operator stormed back to the elevator, a tiny smirk on his lips.

“Neither am I,” Mags snarled back, hand hovering over the lift button. “You have fun with your whores.”

“Is this Cola bitter?” Scarlett raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of her drink, “No, it’s just you.”

Mags rolled her eyes, slamming her hand into the button to lower the lift. Once the Operator vanished, the Banshee let out a cackle.

“And then there were two,” Moira laughed.

“Hmm.” Caldwell scoffed, taking a long drink of Quantum, “She _really_ thought she could play with fire, and not get burned? What a fool.”

“I thought she genuinely liked you, you know.” Moira reached over and took the bottle of Quantum, taking a sip. Caldwell let out a loud bark of laughter.

“Banshee, please…” He chuckled, unable to hide an amused smile, “She loves money and herself, nothing more. From the start she was using me, and now that she knows she can’t, she’s bitter. She’ll get over it, or sooner or later, she’ll crash and burn.”

“For the record,” Scarlett spoke up, “I don’t mind the sharing.”

“That’s why we’re still here,” Moira reminded her, tapping their bottles together.

Caldwell blinked once, “Now, I don’t mean to make an ass out of you and me… but are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“No,” Moira deadpanned.

“Yes,” Scarlett replied at the same time. The two women looked at one another in surprise.

“Well.” Caldwell rose from his seat, “I am certainly not opposed to such an arrangement, as long as the both of you are on board.”

“You want… both of us?” Moira asked both Caldwell and Scarlett, looking between them.

“Yes,” Caldwell answered.

“I mean, yeah,” Scarlett replied with a shrug. Moira blinked, eyes still darting between the pair. She slowly pulled her feet off of Scarlett’s lap.

“I… am terribly flattered… it’s just…” The Banshee looked almost flustered. “I… this is…”

“New to you?” Scarlett finished for her, shuffling closer to the Harbinger, “Don’t worry… you’ll learn quickly.”

“It is definitely new to me.” Moira swallowed hard, gripping the Quantum with both hands as her controlled demeanor faltered.

“Which part?” Caldwell asked, sitting down on Moira’s other side, draping an arm across the Banshee’s shoulder. Scarlett laced her fingers through Caldwell’s, and her other hand began to stroke Moira’s hair and caress her face.

“The multiple people at once part,” Moira admitted, unsure how to react to the sudden attention.

“Don’t worry, Moira,” Scarlett breathed into the white-haired woman’s ear, “We’ll take care of you.”

Moira’s breath hitched, her grip on the Quantum bottle tightening. Still uncertain, she glanced towards Caldwell, unsure why but looking to him for some kind of confirmation. The Overboss removed his sunglasses.

“If you’re not comfortable, you can decline,” He said softly, “But if you’re feeling adventurous, we will guide you.”

Moira considered this, but finally nodded, setting her cola aside. “Alright, fine. There’s a first time for everything.”

Caldwell rose from his seat, and Scarlett all but jumped out of her’s, each taking one of Moira’s hands and guiding her towards the Overboss’s bed. Caldwell slipped out of his coat and cast it over the back of a nearby chair while Scarlett took a seat, patting the mattress.

“C’mon, Moira. Sit.”

Moira sank down onto the mattress beside Scarlett, unbuckling her belts and setting them aside. The Harbinger had gone quiet, an obvious tension in her shoulders as it sank in that she was about to venture into uncharted territory, and, for the first time, would be relinquishing her control.

“Relax,” Scarlett whispered, helping the Banshee out of her coat, “It’ll be fun.”

“Prove it,” Moira murmured back, shrugging her coat off and then slowly beginning to help Scarlett remove her dress.

“We certainly will,” Caldwell answered, stepping behind Scarlett to take her dress and Moira’s coat and store them with his coat, “Now come on. You’re wearing too much.”

“You’re one to talk,” Moira retorted, but began to unbutton her shirt, her fingers fumbling on the first few before she took a deep breath. Caldwell chuckled, unzipping his jumpsuit and slipping out of it, and the pants he wore over it.

“You wear too many layers,” Scarlett complained, leaning forward to kiss along Moira’s shoulder. “Both of you.”

“You never get cold?” Moira smirked, tossing her shirt aside. Now disrobed, Caldwell sat behind the Harbinger, resting his hands on her shoulders as his tongue trailed just along the edge of her earlobe.

“Nuh-uh, not really.” Scarlett put a hand on Moira’s hip, her other working to open the Banshee’s jeans.

“Scarlett has a point. You _do_ wear too many layers.” Caldwell hissed into Moira’s ear, his hands moving to grasp and fondle her breasts. Moira hummed softly, arching into his touch. Scarlett pulled Moira’s jeans down over her hips, letting them drop to the floor.

“I like to build the anticipation,” Moira murmured, leaning back so her head rested against Caldwell’s shoulder. Most of the tension had left her now, but she still seemed uncertain about her movements.

“Well, you’re the woman of the hour right now,” Scarlett laughed, gently pushing Moira’s legs apart. The Queen of Hearts gently began to dip her fingers between Moira’s thighs, teasing the Harbinger and drawing a soft moan. Meanwhile, Caldwell continued his massage, fingers twisting the Banshee’s nipples.

“S-so... do I.. need to do anything?” Moira asked, a little hazily. Scarlett, deciding the Banshee was suitably ready, slipped a single finger into her and was rewarded with a gasp.

“Not yet. Just sit back and enjoy for now,” Caldwell responded, pressing his lips against Moira’s skin. Scarlett mirrored him, kissing the other side of Moira’s neck, and then down her chest and stomach until her tongue began to circle the Banshee’s clit. A second finger joined the first, and they curled gently with each outward stroke.

“Holy shit,” Moira gasped, one hand tangling in Scarlett’s hair, while the other latched onto Caldwell’s wrist.

“Shhh…” Caldwell turned the Banshee’s head to meet her lips with his, muffling her moaning. She eagerly kissed him back as Scarlett increased her pace, her tongue tracing intricate patterns in time to the eager pumps of her fingers.

“Caldwell,” Scarlett pulled away for a second to breathe, “I need you, please.”

“Duty calls.” Caldwell sighed, breaking away from Moira, pulling her back onto the bed. Moira leaned after him for a moment as his lips left hers, but settled back against the pillows. Scarlett crawled onto the bed, resuming her work as the Overboss took a position behind her, entering her with a rough thrust.

Scarlett let out a loud moan, having to pause the involvement of her mouth. Her fingers faltered only for a moment before matching the pace set by Caldwell as he began to fuck her. Moira let out a soft hiss of breath, leaning back against the pillows and closing her eyes as she let herself enjoy the pleasure she was being treated to.

“Having fun?” Caldwell asked the ladies, a hand reaching around to toy with one of Scarlett’s breasts.

“God, yeah,” Scarlett breathed, again having to pause her ministrations. Moira rocked her hips impatiently, feeling the hot coil of her climax beginning to build.

“I would be if you could stop interrupting her.”

“Scarlett... pay attention to our guest,” Caldwell lightly admonished, slowing down his thrusts but driving deeper, “Make her scream for us.”

“Mmm, yes, Boss,” Scarlett replied, resuming her own deep strokes with earnest. As her fingers curled again, Moira let out a gasp.

“Right there, right there!” The Banshee whined, her toes curling as both hands now found Scarlett’s hair. “Fuck, I’m close.”

“Come for us, Moira,” Caldwell hissed, pulling out of Scarlett. The Queen of Hearts made a sound of disappointment, but continued her motions unhindered. The pair didn’t have to wait long, before Moira let out a strangled cry of ecstasy, her back arching as her orgasm crashed through her. As she lay on the mattress, Scarlett crawled up beside the Banshee, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Was it good?”

“Yes,” Moira replied, trying to catch her breath.

“No rest for the wicked.” Caldwell commented, joining them on the bed, prepared to enter Moira, “Are you ready for your turn with me?”

“Scarlett hasn’t come yet,” Moira reminded him, though her hands eagerly ran up the length of his torso, lacing behind his neck.

“You can help me with that,” Scarlett hummed, running her tongue along Moira’s collar, “But _this_ time it’s all about you. _Next_ time we’ll worry about keeping things fair and equal.”

“A bold presumption,” Moira chuckled. She leaned over to press a kiss to the top of Scarlett’s head. In that moment, Caldwell entered her with a single deep thrust.

“I think you’ll want to revisit this experience again someday,” he said, leaning down to plant his lips against Moira’s. The Banshee let out a faltering gasp as he filled her, but quickly reciprocated the kiss, one hand resting on his neck.

“Let me butt in here,” Scarlett pushed Caldwell’s face out of the way, catching Moira’s mouth with her own. For his part, the Overboss took this in good humor, focusing on his thrusts as Scarlett kissed Moira as if she needed her to breathe.

Moira moaned breathlessly into Scarlett’s mouth, the hand on Caldwell’s neck guiding his face to her breasts. She hungrily continued to kiss the Queen of Hearts, her free hand moving to try and reach Scarlett’s waist.

“Did you want something?” Scarlett asked, breaking away for a moment when the Banshee’s hand finally found her hip.

“Well, you were so generous to me,” Moira purred, trying to pull Scarlett closer. “Let me return the favor.”

Scarlett smiled and moved closer, and as soon as she did Moira slipped her hand down, teasing the Queen’s folds and then her clit, before gently entering her with a pair of fingers. The red-haired woman let out a gasp, her head tilting back for a moment.

Caldwell took the bait, moving his lips away from Moira’s chest to meet Scarlett’s, his hands picking up the slack as he kissed the Queen of Hearts. Moira, in turn, leaned up to kiss along the Overboss’s neck, peppering his throat and shoulders with small bites but keeping most of her focus on the younger raider queen.

Moira’s fingers worked deftly, quick, rough movements interspersed with slower, more powerful ones where her fingers curled just so, thumb still circling and flickering against Scarlett’s clitoris, and it wasn’t long before Scarlett was moaning loudly.

“Moira… Caldwell… I’m… almost…”

“Go ahead. Come undone,” Caldwell breathed into her ear, tangling a hand into her hair and pulling her back into a kiss. After another half minute, rocking her hips into the Banshee’s devoted ministrations, Scarlett let out a whimper and then a gasp as she orgasmed, eyes shutting tightly and hands white knuckling in the sheets.

“Good girl,” Moira murmured, slowing her strokes to help Scarlett ride out her climax. As the Queen of Hearts fell back onto the bed beside the Banshee, Caldwell leaned over to press a kiss to each woman’s head.

Moira withdrew her hand from Scarlett, and with a smirk turned her attention back to Caldwell, pressing her slick fingers against his lips. With a phantom smirk, Caldwell closed his lips around them, running his tongue along and around each digit individually.

Pleased, the Banshee finally let herself enjoy the pleasure of his thrusts, one leg hooking around Caldwell’s waist as she moved with him, matching each deep stroke.

“Getting close, Moira?” Caldwell asked.

“Starting to,” she replied, her hand moving from his mouth to pull his lips against hers. Beside the Banshee, Scarlett settled in, curling up beside her and resting her head against her shoulder.

“Good.” Caldwell’s left hand reached around to yank back on Moira’s hair, exposing her neck and collar for him to take small bites. As soon as his teeth found her skin, she moaned, her back arching.

“Yes, harder, please,” Moira begged, her nails digging into his skin as she clung to him. Caldwell obliged, his thrusts and the bites he left both more forceful in delivery. Still breathless and dazed, Scarlett gently caressed Moira’s skin, pressing her lips against the white-haired woman’s shoulder, neck, and face.

The roughness of the Overboss juxtaposing with the softness of the Queen of Hearts soon had Moira just as breathless, her head tipping back as she could feel herself very quickly nearing the edge of her second release. “Fuck. _Fuck_. Yes, Scarlett, James… almost…”

Caldwell’s movement stuttered for a moment, but he recovered quickly and made up for any mistakes by pounding harder, faster, ignoring the curious look on Scarlett’s face. Moira was far too close to her climax to realize the slip of her tongue, and in seconds she cried out as she came.

“Get close, ladies… I’ll give you _both_ some love for the grand finale,” Caldwell ordered, pulling out of Moira and stroking his length rapidly. As Moira caught her breath, Scarlett shuffled closer, pressing her cheek against Moira’s, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out expectantly. After another moment, Caldwell came, white lines of his seed splattering across both ladies’ faces.

“Mmm…” Scarlett sighed contentedly as she licked her lips, “That was… good. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“Maybe _after_ a day of labor and not before,” Moira suggested, wiping her face and sighing as her hand came away with paint. “I don’t really want to get up.”

“Do we have to?” Scarlett whined, looking at Caldwell with puppy-dog eyes.

“Unfortunately, yes,” The Overboss sighed, pulling the pants out of his jumpsuit and up his hips, “The weather is expected to be clear today, and warm enough to get a lot done on the Red Rocket.”

“I already have a small team ready to assist us,” Moira added, sitting up and grabbing the rag off the nightstand. Her voice had gone back to its typical aloof, professional tone, “The Mutants hauled the supplies out there this morning so Ellison’s keeping them at home and out of our way.”

“Missed a spot,” Scarlett commented, licking Caldwell’s seed off of Moira’s cheek. The Banshee blinked at her, not sure if she was disgusted or aroused.

“I’ll be ready in about an hour,” Caldwell had stalked over to his bar, cracking open a bottle of Nuka Cola Victory, “I’ll need to pack some essentials.”

“By essentials, you mean Quantum.” Scarlett smirked.

“I know what I said.”

“Sure. I look like hell now anyways,” Moira sighed, getting to her feet and gathering her clothing. “Witch is probably with Gage. Will you let him know when we’re leaving?”

“No problem,” Caldwell nodded, “Scarlett, could you come here for a moment?”

“Mmhm!” Scarlet bounced to her feet, quickly throwing on her dress before meeting Caldwell at the bar. Once there, the Overboss slung an arm around her shoulder, turning her away from Moira.

“Do not under _any_ circumstances refer to me as ‘James’ in public, or I will burn Kiddie Kingdom and you in it. Privately… you may. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Scarlett replied, stunned by the sudden cold in the Overboss’s voice.

“Good girl.” Caldwell pressed his lips against the Queen of Heart’s forehead, “Run along now.”

Scarlett nodded, returning to give Moira a goodbye kiss on the forehead before departing for her park. Moira watched her leave, still buttoning her shirt, before glancing back at Caldwell.

“Well… that must have been quite nice for you. Meeting successful?”

“An unanticipated ending… but yes,” Caldwell responded, returning to claim a sleeveless, ripped up shirt, “Lines have been drawn, positions made clear. And Scarlett certainly enjoyed herself.”

“She _does_ care for you, you know,” Moira replied coolly, gathering one of her belts to pull the baggy shirt against her slim frame. “Quite a bit.”

Caldwell paused, his hands resting over his long, battle-worn coat, “I know. It’s rather foolish of her. But she cares for _you_ quite a fair bit as well.”

“Perhaps also foolish,” Moira mused, buckling her belt and then shrugging on her sleeveless coat. “Some people are monsters, and she seems very willing to trust such people.”

“You consider me a monster, Moira?”

“You don’t?”

Caldwell paused, “I don’t _need_ to consider. I know it to be fact.”

“Yet you seem surprised that I see it.” The Banshee smirked, pulling her second belt on over the coat.

“I know myself better than you do. Do you not consider yourself a monster?” Caldwell finally donned his coat and sunglasses.

“Of course I am. You can see it as soon as you look at me, after all. The hair, the teeth, the paint, the nails, the company I choose to keep. I have always been more creature than human. Sometimes it just takes certain circumstances to show us our true nature.”

A few moments passed as each raider finished dressing in silence. Finally, Caldwell turned to Moira as she passed by, catching her by the wrist, “I’ll see you at the gate?”

The Banshee glanced down to where he held her wrist, and slipped her hand out of his. “Of course. One hour.”

Caldwell leaned in, pressing his lips against Moira’s forehead, “One hour.”

The Overboss did not miss the flicker of confusion behind the woman’s eyes as she nodded, and then crossed to the lift and left him to prepare.

* * *

“Mason!” Mags screamed, throwing open the gates to the Pack’s territory and storming towards the Alpha’s throne. The gathered Pack turned their heads in shock, including the gladiator whose life was cut short by the distraction. As the ghoulrilla slammed the man’s lifeless body around the arena, Mags stomped up to where Mason sat.

“We need to move. Today.”

“Today?!” Mason shouted, before glancing at the staring faces of the assembled pack, “Come on, we’ll discuss this privately.”

Rising from his throne, Mason led Mags back through the amphitheater and through the rows of cages. Mags’ rage kept her from looking into the cages, but some of the creatures within cowered away not just from Mason, but her as well. Eventually, they came to a fairly secluded alcove, where Mason leaned against the wall.

“Talk. What the fuck do you mean we move today?”

“I fucking mean we move today!” Mags hissed under her breath, “Overboss is going out to the Red Rocket, and that bitch is going with him. That whore had her mutants hauling shit out there this morning, but I’ve heard they’ll be sending them back so they’re not in the slaves’ way as they work.”

“Shit,” Mason whistled, “That _is_ good timing. Why the aggression though? They piss in your Sugar Bombs this morning?”

“That is _none of your fucking business_!” Mags thrust her finger into Mason’s face.

“Whatever you say,” Mason scoffed, batting her finger away. “I’ll round up some troublemakers.”

“I’ll get eyes on the Overboss, an hour after he and the bitch leave, we move.”

* * *

“That everything you need?” Gage asked, checking off another item on the list.

“Yeah, that should do it,” Witch answered, leaning an arm on Gage’s shoulder to read what was on the clipboard. “Thanks for the help, Porter.”

“No problem, but Gage is fine,” Gage responded, eye drifting over to where Witch’s arm rested.

“Gage,” Witch corrected himself with a small smile. “You’ll be around tomorrow, right? I’m thinking I might stay behind, not go to the Rocket after today.”

“Yeah, I’ll be around tomorrow,” Gage shrugged, “I mean, I kinda gotta be, with Caldwell going out all day today, and then with the Gun Runners sending us a shipment…”

“Maybe if all’s quiet you and I can set aside some quality time?”

“Here’s hoping it’s all quiet, then.” Gage smirked, turning to face the other man. Witch draped his arm properly around Gage’s shoulders, grateful that the Overboss’s second had chosen to forgo his usual bulky armor for today.

“You work too hard, you know.”

“I gotta,” Gage sighed, “What’s that Pre-War saying…? Hard work makes the dream work?”

“Teamwork,” Witch chuckled, pressing close. “ _Teamwork_ makes the dream work. But I guess that’s why the bosses use us for the heavy lifting.”

“Yeah… _somebody’s_ gotta be responsible.”

“Is Caldwell not responsible?” Witch raised an eyebrow.

“Caldwell’s got some issues that he’s working through, and he is _not_ good at coping.” Gage rolled his eye, “At least I got through to him that he’s got to quit drinking.”

“Huh. That’s a relief.” Witch pulled a face. “Wish I could get through to Banshee more often. She doesn’t like to admit when she’s wrong. Even if she knows it.”

“Here’s to our hard-headed bosses,” Gage grabbed a half-finished bottle of Nuka Cherry and raised it.

“Cheers.” Witch lifted his own mostly drained Nuka Cola and tapped it to Gage’s bottle. After they’d taken a sip, Witch went quiet before asking, “You hear any of the weird shit Goliath’s been saying lately? M- Banshee didn’t even want to tell me what he talked to her about. I figured the shit with Mags was more important but... I don’t know.”

“Yeah, he has been sayin’ a lot of weird-ass shit…” Gage sat back and thought to himself for a moment, “I overheard him and Caldwell arguing the other day.”

“Classified knowledge or can I ask why?” Witch picked up the pen Gage had set down on the table and began to doodle on the back of the one-eyed raider’s hand.

“Not ‘classified’ but it’s some stupid… I dunno if it’s a rumor, or just Goliath thinkin’ it, but it’s ridiculous.” Gage took another sip of cola, “But I still wouldn’t go spreadin’ it around.”

“I’m very discreet,” Witch promised, “And now you have me curious.”

Gage looked around the empty room to confirm no one had wandered in to eavesdrop, then replied in a whispered tone, “Goliath thinks Caldwell and the Banshee are soulmates or somethin’, like they’re destined to fall in love or some shit.”

Witch immediately began to laugh, having to stop his absent drawing as he nearly doubled over. “What? That’s fucking ridiculous. She could barely stomach Caldwell when we first got here. She still complains about him.”

“I know, right?!” Gage laughed with him, “It’s fuckin’ stupid, but Goliath keeps going on and on about it!”

“Christ, we’ll see how well that goes.” Witch shook his head, still grinning. He put the pen back to Gage’s skin. “Did he say anything about Scarlett too? Mags? Are they all destined to be the subject of a RedEye original hit?”

“Apparently, Mags smells like ‘perfume and lies,’” Gage chuckled, “But he hasn’t said anything about-”

The one-eyed Raider stopped, taking a closer look at Witch’s doodling, “The fuck is that supposed to be? You drawin’ dicks on my hand?”

“It’s Bottle,” Witch protested, adding a crude smiley face and circling it. “The little mascot thing around the park.”

“It looks like a dick.”

“It does not! He has a face on him!”

“So you drew a face on a dick,” Gage raised an eyebrow, “Look, he’s even got the balls!”

“Those are the little rocket fin things,” Witch argued, holding up his bottle of Cola to point to the shape. “You kept squirming; I couldn’t get any straight lines.”

“Dude, just admit you drew a dick on my hand, this is getting sad.”

“It’s not a dick! You want me to draw a dick on your hand and show you?”

“Fuck no, you already did!”

"It’s Bottle! Let me draw the arms and legs.” Witch reached out to grab Gage’s wrist and pin his hand down.

“Ahem.”

The two raiders turned to see Goliath standing behind them, arms crossed.

“The fuck you want?” Gage rolled his eye at the Super Mutant.

“Do not fuck on the Boss’s couch. Go to your room,” Goliath responded in a rumbling voice.

Witch scoffed, quickly turning and drawing a pair of legs on his admittedly terrible doodle. Goliath leaned forward, the movement catching his eye.

“That is a penis.”

“Told you.”

“It is not! Look!” Witch added the arms and pointed. “It’s Bottle.”

“…That is a penis,” Goliath repeated. Witch threw up his hands.

“Fine, sure, it’s a penis.” The Harbinger tossed the pen at Gage. “Happy now?”

“I will be in a minute,” Gage leaned in towards Witch before Goliath coughed into his fist.

“Do not-”

“WE’LL FUCKING MOVE THEN, JESUS CHRIST!” Gage shouted at the Super Mutant, pulling Witch by the wrist towards the door.

* * *

“Fuckin’ goddamn…” Caldwell cursed, wiping his brow with a rag. He’d drank four bottles of Quantum since he’d started working on the Red Rocket, and his sweat was starting to emit a faint glow.

The day was uncharacteristically warm for the beginning of March, and laboring for a few hours did nothing to help. Jumping down from the roof, Caldwell passed by a few Harbingers, the formerly crippled one holding a ceramic bowl full of nails for her paramour as he nailed together a shelving unit.

“How’s your ankle, Witch?” Moth asked, sincerely concerned about her superior, who had cited a twisted ankle as the reason for the slight limp in his gait. Witch, who had been removing his feathered cloak and mantle as the sun grew higher, flushed.

“Better. Still… still a little sore,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Maybe you should have your doctor look it over,” Caldwell suggested, not fooled for a second by the ploy.

“It’s not even a sprain,” Witch replied, a touch too quickly. “I just gotta walk it off, but thanks for the concern.”

“Mmhmm.” Caldwell rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, heading into the Red Rocket proper to where he’d left his other eight bottles of Quantum. Upon reaching his stash, he found only _seven_ bottles.

Looking around, the thief was easily found, as the Banshee was not only the only soul inside, but she openly sipped the glowing cola, standing on a workbench to assess a hole in the roof.

“There are better ways to light up a dark area than stealing one of my Quantums,” Caldwell said as he stepped behind her.

“Your name wasn’t on it,” Moira retorted, not glancing back.

“No, my name was on the entire _crate_.” Caldwell gestured to where his named had, in fact, been painted on.

“Bold of you to assume a group of raiders can even read.”

“Bold of _you_ to steal from your Overboss.”

“You ejaculated on my face this morning. I can have _one_ soda.”

Caldwell let out a small groan, “Fine. Now watch your footing, you’re gonna fall.”

“I’m not going to fall.” Moira set her Quantum down by her feet and carefully lifted a wooden board to test it against the length of the hole. “Perfect. I left my hammer over there, will you grab it for me, James?”

Caldwell turned and grabbed the hammer from a nearby table holding it out for Moira. As her hand wrapped around the head, the Banshee’s choice of words hit them both like a freight train. She blinked, and attempted to take the tool, but Caldwell’s grip on her hammer tightened. After a beat, he relinquished it to her.

“Thank you.” Moira dug into her pocket for a few nails. “Will you hold the board for me? You’re taller than I am.”

“You expect me to climb up on that rickety old workbench with you? Fuck no, I’m getting a stepladder.” Caldwell rolled his eyes, heading back into the garage for a moment.

“Look, you guys don’t need no fuckin’ power armor frame, y’ain’t got no fuckin’ power armor!” A member of the Doomed was arguing with a Harbinger as a pair of slaves glanced back and forth, wondering who to obey.

“Yet,” the Harbinger argued; they were quite tall, with almost spindly limbs and a dark undercut, and Caldwell was sure he’d seen this one frequently shadowing the woman named Sinead.

“When y’get it, you can have one, but right now, we got power armor, we get t’frame!”

“It’s in our garage, it’s ours,” the Harbinger shot back. “Unless you wanna pay us for it.”

“Lay off him, Luka,” Witch said, reentering the room. He turned to the Doomed, “You want the frame, take the frame.”

“No,” Caldwell interrupted, grabbing the ladder, “The Harbinger is right, it’s in _their_ garage, which _I_ gifted to them. It’s their’s.”

“But-”

“No. Fucking. Buts.” Caldwell glared at the Doomed, “Now, get back to work, Lamento.”

The Doomed grumbled as he vacated the garage, Caldwell paying no further attention to the goings on as he returned to where Moira perched precariously with her plank. “Sorry, I had to play peacemaker for a moment.”

“That’s fine. We’ll need to reinforce this against the weather once it’s patched.”

“Yeah, it’d suck to get rained on…” Caldwell set up the stepladder, holding the Banshee’s board in place, “Don’t hit my fucking hands.”

Moira scoffed, and deliberately gave the back of his hand a tap with the hammer, before setting the nail where she wanted it and beginning to pound it into place. Once the board was secure, she leaned back and took a careful look to make sure it would hold. “That should do for now.”

“How are you gonna weatherproof it?” Caldwell asked, stepping down for a moment to appraise the board’s placement.

“I’m not sure yet,” she answered, picking up the Quantum again and taking a swig. “We might have to fix it up from the outside. Maybe a sheet of metal.”

“Sure, if you can deal with the sound,” Caldwell paced, looking from different angles, “Rain on sheet metal can be loud.”

“Ellison’s smart. He’ll probably have this place looking like a Pre-War house in under a year.” Moira turned to hop off the bench, trying to judge which part of the floor she wanted to land on. As she considered, the workbench’s wooden surface cracked, and she tumbled forward.

“Moira!” Caldwell jumped into action, sweeping the stepladder out of his path with his foot as he rushed to catch the Banshee in a bridal carry. Moira blinked in surprise as her brain tried to catch up with what had happened.

“For the record, the bench broke. My footing was just fine.”

“For the record, you still fuckin’ fell.”

“For the record, _you_ caught me.” Moira smirked; Caldwell still had not put her down. “Can you set me down now?”

“Nah.” Caldwell’s face grew a smirk as well, “Can’t trust you not to trip and fall.”

“Well I can’t do much work from here,” she replied, though she made no effort to escape his hold.

“Sure you can. I’ll just carry you over to wherever _nailing_ needs done.”

“That is awfully generous of you.” Moira’s smirk widened, not missing his innuendo.

“You guys okay? I heard a clatter?” Witch poked his head in from the garage.

“ _I’m_ fine, the Banshee was clumsy and fell.” Caldwell turned around, Moira still in his arms.

“The bench broke,” Moira protested, now actively trying to get back to her feet. As soon as Moira begun to squirm, the Overboss let her back down to the ground.

“Yeah... okay, be careful.” Witch’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly at Caldwell as he returned to the other room.

“He doesn’t like you,” Moira deadpanned as her second left them.

“He threatened to kill me last we were here, so I’m aware of that,” Caldwell responded in equal tone.

“He won’t kill a fly unless I order him to,” Moira scoffed. “He’s all talk.”

“Mmhmm…” Caldwell hummed, grabbing the unfinished Quantum from the bench and taking a small sip.

“We agreed that was mine,” Moira protested.

“Then take it back.” Caldwell took another sip, holding the drink in his mouth and the bottle over his head. Moira’s eyes narrowed, as she reached for the bottle, but found it just a few inches beyond her fingertips. Setting one hand on Caldwell’s shoulder, she tried to use him to boost her jump to grab the bottle.

His free hand reaching around the back of the Banshee’s head, Caldwell pulled her lips to his, passing the Quantum from his mouth to hers in the midst of their kiss. After breaking away, the Overboss brought the bottle back down from the peak of his reach, offering it back to Moira.

Moira took the bottle back, taking another drink and glaring at the Overboss. Caldwell, a victorious grin on his face, mimicked the mock salute she’d given him many times before, and headed towards the outside.

* * *

“Harbingers! Haaaarbingers! Come out and plaaaaaay!” A lone Pack member called, walking into their territory, clinking empty cola and beer bottles together.

“The fuck does he think he’s doing?” Fontayne muttered, peering out the front window where he’d been seated with Stitches.

“Looking to start more shit with us,” the medic guessed, scowling.

“Haaaaaaarbingeeeerrrrrrs!” The Pack man continued to call, swaying with each step as he clinked his bottles, “Come out and plaaaaaaay!”

“Yo, you want me to do something about this?” Xian Jun asked, at their usual post by the front door. “One shot, bring the body in. No one has to know.”

“No, leave it,” Sinead called from across the main room. “If trouble starts on my watch, Witch and Banshee will have my hide.”

“I can seeee you!” Now closer, the Harbingers could see the man wore an antlered helmet and furry clothes, with a souvenir sloth wrapped around one leg, “Come on out! Don’t be a pussy!”

As the clinking of the bottles grew louder, Volos began to snarl from his nest, lifting his head to growl towards the window.

“Fuck me. Ellison, can you work your weird Mutant magic with him?” Fontayne asked, gesturing to the agitated Deathclaw.

* * *

Off in the distance, a couple of Operators peered through scopes and binoculars, observing the situation below.

“Status?”

“Distraction is still… rambling,” The Operator with binoculars reported, “The Deathclaw is gettin’ pretty pissed though. No sign of any mutants.”

“Shit,” The Operator in charged cursed, “Get the syringer loaded with berserk needles, we’ll nail the lizard as soon as a target is in the open.”

“Y’got it.”

* * *

“I can try,” Ellison sighed, moving from his spot among the Super Mutants and slowly towards the Deathclaw, one hand outstretched.

In the corner, the mutants snorted and grumbled as they listened to the Pack member’s threats.

“Small human. Just one,” Jolly grumbled, looking out the front windows. Mutt looked mostly disinterested, stacking the stones they used for tic-tac-toe, though his eyes darted around the room as they always did.

“Kill small human,” Noose growled back. “Show we’re strong.”

“Banshee will be mad,” Jolly warned.

“Small human is dumb. Prove strength,” Noose argued.

“ _Eat_ small human?” Doc suggested with what sounded like a cruel chuckle.

“Banshee will be mad,” Jolly repeated, turning his gaze towards Volos and Ellison.

* * *

“This is Egg Two to Nest,” The Operator’s radio cracked to life, “We are in position and have eyes on a Mutant. Berserk dart ready.”

She let a cruel smile creep across her lips, “Excellent. Take the shot on my mark. Three… two…”

* * *

Mutt twitched, reaching up to swat at what felt like a nasty bee sting at his neck. He huffed, once, twice, and then suddenly threw himself at Grin, knocking the larger mutant to the floor.

The mutant with the exposed jaw barely held the smaller, frantic Mutt at bay, but Doc and Jolly stepped in, helping to subdue him as Mutt bit and scratched and swung his fists at them. With Jolly distracted, Noose lumbered out one of the side exits as quietly as he could, determined to silence the taunting Pack outside.

* * *

“Mutant in the open! Take the shot on the Deathclaw!” The Operator in charge ordered her subordinate, “Let’s see them survive a berserk Deathclaw and an angry mutant…”

* * *

Ellison stroked Volos’ muzzle, stopping the snarling just as the fighting broke out across the room. Spinning around, he watched Mutt attack Grin, and headed back over. “Whoa, hey, what the fuck?!”

Volos shifted anxiously from foot to foot, when a sharp pain struck him and he let out a bellowing roar, tail swishing and head shaking as he recoiled from the unpleasant feeling.

“Fuck this.” Fontayne drew his gun, heading out the front door past Xian Jun.

“Fontayne!” Sinead shouted, though she’d all but frozen as the aggression broke out amongst the mutants.

“You want to play, let’s fucking play,” Fontayne snapped, aiming his pipe revolver at the Pack member.

* * *

“Nest! We have an interloper,” The Operator’s radio sparked to life.

“Put him to sleep! Our target is the mutant, and the mutant alone!”

* * *

“Hey! Big Ugly!” The Pack member taunted the Harbingers, clinking his bottles, “And oh look, a Super Mutant too! Ha ha ha!”

Fontayne fired a shot, exploding one of the bottles. “Shut the fuck up and go crawl back to your zoo.”

The Pack member threw the other bottle he carried at Noose, and blew the Harbingers a raspberry, “ _Shut the fuck up and go crawl back to your zoo_!” He mocked.

As Fontayne leveled his gun at the antlered man, he felt a twinge in his shoulder and looked down to see a dart in his arm. “They’ve got snipers!”

As he spoke, the Harbinger slumped to the ground, his words slurring as he fell.

“Shit!” Xian Jun darted out, grabbing Fontayne and pulling him towards the door, just as Noose roared and charged at the Pack member.

“Hee hee hee! You can’t catch me!” The antlered man squealed in a high pitched voice as he ran, the Super Mutant hot on his heels.

Before any of the Harbingers could react, Volos began to hiss and snarl, saliva dripping from his mouth as he thrashed and looked around him for the source of his discomfort. His eyes locked onto one of the newer recruits, a young woman who had tried to creep forward with some fresh meat.

Volos lunged, his claws tearing into her and his teeth ripping out her throat before she could scream.

“Vivienne!” Another Harbinger cried out for their fallen friend, while Sinead and Stitches leaped into action, ushering the others towards the door.

“Everyone outside, now!” Sinead screamed to be heard over the clamor, their retreat bought a few precious moments as Volos tore into Vivienne’s body, lapping up the blood.

* * *

“Nest to Mama Bird, mission accomplished.” The Operator hissed into her radio as her fellows disassembled the components of their weapons, keeping out of sight.

“Good,” Mags responded through the walkie-talkie, “And I’m told that Papa Wolf has done his part as well. You’ve done well.”

* * *

The sun was sinking by the time the Doomed and Harbingers called it a day at the Red Rocket, a number of them heading back for the park.

“The place looks almost livable now, doesn’t it?” Caldwell asked Moira as they walked ahead of the group.

“Almost,” she answered with a small smile. “The mutants will be happy enough with it, and it’s really for them anyways.”

“Good…” Caldwell nodded, “But in my experience… there aren’t _nearly_ enough blood bags and corpses around for it to be a Mutant’s home.”

“Give them time, they’ll decorate the place to their tastes.” Moira chuckled, but her smile faded as she noticed a solitary figure waiting at the gates.

“What’s wrong?” Caldwell asked, following her gaze.

Fontayne stood just inside the gate, expressionless, arms crossed, awaiting their arrival.

“What’s going on?” Moira asked. Fontayne took a moment to consider how to respond, looking past the group as he set his jaw.

“There was... an incident this afternoon.”

“Define incident,” Caldwell demanded stepping forward, “What the hell happened?!”

Fontayne sucked in a breath, still stoic. “Noose and Vivienne are dead.”

“What?” Witch and Moira demanded in unison. Moth clapped her hands over her mouth, and Luka moved to sprint past, only for Vulture and another Harbinger to catch their arms.

“There was a member of the Pack trying to taunt us into coming outside. He was clinking bottles and the sound was upsetting Volos. Apparently it was also upsetting Mutt. Both of them just…  snapped, started attacking blindly. Mutt jumped at Grin, and he’s… recovered now. Volos tore into Viv and we took the chance to get everyone outside. We haven’t gone back in to check on him. Some sniper hit me with a sleeping dart. I don’t know exactly what happened.”

“A sleeping dart?!” Caldwell grabbed Fontayne by the collar, “Do you still have it?”

The Harbinger blinked, but produced the dart from his pocket. Caldwell grabbed it, eyeing it carefully before passing it to a member of the Doomed.

“Miasma, get this to Brownstone. Now. Tell him to potentially expect more, and a visit from me,” Caldwell ordered before stomping off towards the Harbinger’s homestead. Moira and Witch had already taken off at a dead sprint, and any of the Harbingers that could keep up followed suit; Vulture had gathered up Moth and rushed after as quickly as he could with her in his arms.

Outside, the remaining Harbingers were all seated, giving the buildings several yards distance as a few crashes and roars could be heard within. The other three Super Mutants were huddled around Stitches and Ellison, while Mutt lurked a few feet away, looking at the ground. The medic held her brother as he curled into her, his body visibly shaking as he wept into her shoulder.

“What happened? Where are they?” Moira demanded, marching up to Sinead. The taller woman’s blue eyes were red from crying, and she shook her head.

“Banshee, I-”

“Now, now, don’t give her no shit, Screamer,” Brownstone snapped, appearing from behind Mutt, “C’mere for a sec.”

“Where are the bodies?” Moira asked again, rounding on Brownstone now as she stalked over.

“The one is… in there.” Brownstone pointed towards the door, “The other… well… we can’t get it down right now.”

“Get it down?” Witch sounded like he was being strangled. He ran his hands through his hair.

“Yeah…” Brownstone frowned, “It’s… not pretty.”

“You said the Pack was a part of this?” Moira spun back towards Fontayne. The man nodded, hesitantly.

“Maybe the one guy was makin’ a racket, but… he’s a goner too,” Brownstone shrugged, “He’s all caught up with your Mutant on the main gate. But…!”

Without waiting, Moira was heading for the main gate. Witch hesitated, before moving to the Harbingers, confirming no one else was harmed. Luka moved to Sinead, speaking in a low voice to her as they gently took her by the shoulders.

“Y’need to tell your boss, though… I don’t think it was _just_ the Pack… c’mere, lookie here,” Brownstone followed behind the Banshee’s second and held out a syringe for him to see, “This here got shot out of a syringer rifle, and judging by the color of what little liquid remains… this here is berserker formula. Whatever it hits, gets real pissed. Yer green boy got tagged by it.”

“Fuck. Who in the park has this shit?” Witch demanded.

“Look, I’m gonna level with you. There are only two people in Nuka World who can cook this shit. Me, and Lizzie.” Brownstone replied, eyes shifting around, “So either somebody bought it from me… or…”

“Then who the _fuck_ have you been selling to?” Witch demanded, grabbing the chem cook by the front of the shirt.

“Witch. Let him go,” Caldwell called out as he arrived on the scene.

If Witch heard, he made no response to the Overboss. “Two of my people are _dead_ because of this shit, Brownstone! Two of them! You tell me what you know, and you tell me now.”

Caldwell pulled out his black magnum, leveling it with the back of Witch’s head, “Let. Him. Go.”

Witch shoved Brownstone away from him, again running a hand through his hair. “It had to be the Operators, right? Snipers, pissed at Banshee for no fucking reason.”

“I haven’t sold Berserker in like… two months.” Brownstone smoothed out the front of his shirt, “So unless it was somebody pulling a long con…”

“I _will_ get to the bottom of this,” Caldwell forcefully grabbed Witch’s shoulder, “But under no circumstances will I tolerate some vigilante, unsanctioned retaliation. Am. I. Clear?”

“I will do whatever the Banshee tells me to do,” Witch replied, eyes narrowed.

“ _Am_ . _I_ . _Fucking_ . _Clear_?” Caldwell shouted in Witch’s face, turning the Harbinger to face him.

“I will do what the Banshee tells me to do,” Witch repeated, voice low and dangerous. “You’re clear. But it is not my decision.”

Caldwell released Witch, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to re-tame your Deathclaw.”

With that the Overboss vanished into the Harbinger’s home. After a few moments of awkward silence, Brownstone coughed into his fist.

“Well. Today has been a day. Y’all want-” However, Brownstone froze, his eyes narrowing on a specific pair of individuals, “ _You_.”

Luka and Sinead turned towards the chem cook, the former puzzled while the latter merely tried to keep composed. Brownstone stormed up to them, grabbing Luka by the face and shifting the angle as he examined them.

“You… fuckin’ little… snakes…” He hissed at them, his clownish cadance slipping away.

“…Allison?” Luka’s eyes widened. “You’re alive?”

“You betrayed me for Kincaid, left me under a metric fuck-ton of rubble, and all you have to say is ‘You’re alive?!’” Brownstone’s hands wrapped around Luka’s throat, “You left me to _die_ , you little shit!”

“No, _Veronica_ left you to die,” Sinead interjected suddenly, trying to shove Brownstone off of Luka. “We were long gone!”

“Wait, what the fuck is happening?” Fontayne demanded.

Brownstone released Luka from his grasp stomping a few feet away, seething, “I was a fucking _god_ in the chem trade, and _they_ were among my bodyguards. But then one day, they just fuckin’ vanished and the next thing I know, my warehouse is collapsing on top of me! Coincidence?! I think _not_!!”

“Wait, _you’re_ Allison?” Witch had stopped his own pacing as the scuffle broke out.

“Oh sure, let’s keep throwing _that_ old name around!” Brownstone snapped, “Yes the fuck I am Allison Thorne! Or I _was_ until I had a fuckin’ _warehouse_ dropped on my fuckin’ head!”

“You weren’t supposed to be there.” Witch had paled, looking between Luka and Sinead. “You told us he wouldn’t be there!”

“He wasn’t supposed to be,” Sinead replied.

“Well I fuckin’ was!” Brownstone spat, “And you ruined my fuckin’ life for it! Look at me now! Look! At! Me! Now! I’m a fuckin’ _clown_ ! I used to be _god_!”

“You were never supposed to be involved,” Witch said again, his hands visibly starting to shake. “Shit... shit, when Banshee finds out...”

“Can someone please explain to me _what the fuck is going on in my fucking park_?!” Caldwell had returned from the Harbiner’s homestead, Volos behind him with his snout in the dirt in shame.

“Where the _fuck_ is Kincaid?!” Brownstone turned around, figuratively foaming at the mouth as he faced the Overboss.

“Excuse me?” Caldwell blinked, staring at his chem cook in a mixture of confusion and surprise.

“Where. The _fuck_. Is. Kincaid?!” Brownstone screeched, looking around the gathered audience.

“Right here, what the _fuck_ do _you_ want?” Moira snapped, returning to the scene only to catch Brownstone’s final inquiry. She looked like she was barely holding herself together, trembling with rage and grief.

Upon spotting the Banshee, Brownstone’s eyes widened for a brief moment before he charged at her with a wild scream, tackling the Harbinger to the ground, “You ruined my life! You fuckin’ ruined my life!”

“I met you two months ago!” Moira snarled, once her head had stopped ringing from the impact with the ground. Her hands went for the knives at her belts.

“Allison, get off!” Luka and Sinead moved to pull him off. They managed to get him away for a moment before he broke free, charging back into the fray, knife in hand. Moira had her knives drawn as he reached her, eyes wide.

“Veronica’s Allison?”

“ENOUGH!” Caldwell bellowed, grabbing Brownstone by the back of the shirt and throwing him backwards before he could make contact, “Effective _immediately_ I am putting Nuka World on _lockdown_. Stay in your fucking territories unless summoned until I sort this shit out!”

“But-”

“Brownstone, shut the fuck up!” Caldwell snapped, “You will be confined to your clinic until the lockdown is lifted. And there will be _hell to pay_ for this… _clusterfuck_!”

With that, two members of the Doomed each took one of Brownstone’s arms and led the chem cook away. Taking a deep breath, Caldwell pressed a syringe into Stitches’ hand, startling the medic as she stared after Brownstone in shock, one arm still cradling her brother.

“Your Deathclaw was struck by a berserk dart and agitated by the bottles. His actions were not of poor training.”

Stitches stared down into her palm, then closed her fingers around the syringe and nodded, for once at a loss for even the most venomous of words. Without another word, Caldwell turned to leave.

“Wait,” Moira called to the Overboss, catching his arm. “Noose. We’re not leaving him hanging there.”

Caldwell answered without turning, “I’ll send a crew to take him down and bring him home.”

Moira nodded mutely, quietly reeling from the past fifteen minutes and doing everything in her power not to break in front of the people who expected her leadership and guidance. Squaring her shoulders, she whistled and sent the remaining Harbingers indoors.

* * *

It was probably close to ten o’clock in the evening when three heavy knocks came to the Harbinger’s door. Their mourning screams had died out close to an hour ago, but it still took a full minute before the door was opened, this time by Fontayne, his gun drawn.

“Is that a gun, or are you happy to see me?” Goliath looked down on him.

“What do you want?”

“Caldwell summons the Banshee to discuss the events of today,” Goliath answered. Fontayne glared up at the grey mutant, but finally looked back over his shoulder. The common room was packed, each of the Harbingers summoned home from any other haunts in the park as they huddled together.

“Someone get Banshee.”

Witch, leaning against the far wall, turned and vanished down the hall without a sound. The Super Mutants were at the center of the room, but Jolly did little more than scowl at Goliath.

“You,” Goliath called in at Jolly, “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Only strong survive,” Jolly grumbled back, looking down at the floor. “Strong and smart. I said no. Noose not listen.”

“Mourn anyway,” Goliath responded.

“I’m here.” Moira stepped into the room. Her makeup and face paint were gone, leaving her almost startlingly barefaced.

“Caldwell wants to talk about today,” Goliath motioned for her to join him, “Come.”

“Go,” Witch said to her softly, a hand on her back. “I’ve got things here.”

Moira still walked with reluctance through her people, joining Goliath in the doorway.

The walk to the lift was done in silence. At several points, the grey Super Mutant appeared to want to say something, but each time decided to remain quiet. At the lift, Goliath pressed the call button.

“I am sorry, fair lady, for your loss.” He finally spoke. Moira said nothing, but set a hand on Goliath’s arm. She stepped onto the lift, waiting to see if he intended to join her. However, the mutant pressed the button again, sending the lift up to the Fizztop Grille.

Caldwell was seated at his desk, several lamps illuminating piles of sheets of paper as he rested his head in his hands. A nearby end table held another three empty bottles of Quantum. Hearing the lift start, and stop, the Overboss looked up and motioned for Moira to enter and take the seat across from him.

She entered soundlessly, but settled into the indicated seat. The room felt far different to her now than it had this morning. But this morning, she’d believed things had finally fallen into place, not realizing it was all about to shatter beneath her.

“You’re the victim here,” Caldwell spoke after a moment, balancing a pen on his index and middle fingers, “But, I have to know your side of a certain story. Who is Allison Thorne?”

“Allison Thorne is- _was_ a famous chem cook, around Far Harbor and farther north. His cousin, Veronica Thorne, was the queen of the trade. They had one another set up for life. Until Witch and I burned her empire to the ground.”

“Elaborate on this… burning. Why ruin Thorne’s chem trade?”

“We were poised to take another territory.” Moira’s voice was even more devoid of inflection than usual. “I thought I could trust her, and I was wrong. She went behind my back and made the trades I was going to make, keeping Witch and me under her thumb and operating as she saw fit. I don’t tolerate betrayal, and so I cut deals with a few of her other employees, including Luka and Sinead. And we took her down.”

“And you can confirm that Veronica Thorne is dead?” Caldwell asked, looking at a piece of paper before him.

“I cut the heart from her chest and ate it. So, yes.”

Caldwell took a deep breath, “I see. Unfortunately, our Mr. Brownstone was caught in the crossfire of your little feud, and is out for blood. According to him, he was in the process of confronting Veronica about double-dealing behind his back when you staged your attack. He barely got out alive.”

“He wasn’t meant to be involved.” Moira had one foot tucked onto the chair and she wrapped her arms around her leg, resting her chin atop her knee. “It was personal, and she was the one I wanted dead.”

“This feud between the two of you has to be put to rest before it spirals,” Caldwell sighed, “That is something you should think about.”

“I never had a feud with Allison. I didn’t know what became of him.”

“I know, but he’s screaming for blood. I need you to find a way to make peace.”

“He can get in line. It seems all of Nuka World would see me bleed.”

“Moira. Please,” Caldwell reached across the table and grabbed the Banshee’s hand. She looked away from him sharply, blinking several times to hold back tears.

“Moira?” Caldwell removed his sunglasses, setting them on the table, “Talk to me.”

She sat silent for another moment, before letting out a shuddering breath. “They killed my people. They had _Volos_ turn on us. Noose was clearly brutalized before he was strung up. This was a deliberate attack. Since I arrived here everything I worked for has been thrown into jeopardy, not the security you promised.”

“This is not what I expected. This is not what I wanted.” Caldwell stood from his seat, kneeling beside where Moira sat, “And all of this… unacceptable… I will find who is to blame, and I will make them suffer.”

“You make it worse,” Moira accused, a single tear escaping and rolling down her cheek. “The closer I get to you, and the more you try and recompense me for the wrongs done, the deeper the divides become, the more hostile my foes.”

“I cannot just let them attack each other. This is a coalition, one that cannot function when we are striking at each other more than our true enemies… a kingdom that wars against itself cannot stand.”

“Then reward them for building bridges. Don’t just punish them. Fear and respect are not tantamount, and hungry dogs are never loyal.”

Caldwell rose back to his feet, putting a hand on the Banshee’s shoulder, “Moira, you are strong and wise. Maybe if those words had come to me sooner, I would not have failed you as I have.”

Moira sat still, but in another moment the raider queen shattered, an anguished sob escaping her as she began to weep, burying her face against her knee. “I couldn’t protect them. I’m supposed to protect them.”

Caldwell wrapped his arms around Moira, pressing his forehead against the side of her head, “Shhh…”

“They look to me to keep them safe,” she continued, clutching the front of Caldwell’s coat. “I promised to keep them safe.”

“Moira. Look at me. Look at me,” Caldwell turned her head to look him in the eye, “It’s going to be alright.”

“Not for Vivienne or Noose.”

“Shhh…” Caldwell kissed Moira’s forehead, “Cry it out.”

Moira knew she shouldn’t trust this, should be suspicious and wary of him offering her such comfort, but the only thing she was certain of in the moment was that she didn’t want to be alone. Burying her face into the crook of Caldwell’s neck, she pressed herself close and allowed herself her tears.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Caldwell asked, stroking Moira’s hair. She nodded, her body beginning to shake from her sobs. Without another word, the Overboss cradled Moira in his arms, lifting her and carrying her over to the bed.

“Just lie here with me. Let it all out,” He murmured, pulling her close as he pulled the sheets over them. Moira gratefully curled against Caldwell, her grief turning more to staccato breaths and shaking shoulders than tears. After a few more minutes, she’d calmed, and wiped at her eyes. They lay in the quiet together before the Banshee spoke softly.

“Thank you, James.”

“Of course, Moira.”

No more words were spoken, and eventually Moira’s breaths evened out as she fell into sleep. With his arms around her, Caldwell found it hard not to remember nights like this, nights that he’d experienced in another life. But James, despite his lingering ghost, was dead, and while Overboss Caldwell walked the earth in his place, tonight it was James Caldwell Jr. who lay awake with a girl sleeping in his arms.

And for once, Caldwell didn’t seem to mind the ghost’s presence in his mind as he too drifted to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Shit. That was a roller coaster... but don't worry... next time we'll tackle the OTHER emotional roller coaster.
> 
> {We actually didn't intend to drop Brownstone's backstory just yet... but then we realized we'd accidentally yet unquestionably put him and Luka into the same place at the same time so... Event Triggered.}


	27. Phantom Limb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Vincent have been reunited. Meanwhile, Cait is in trouble, and the group rushes to help her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Homophobic Slur, Implied Racism, Drug References
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Alice In Chains.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN**

**PHANTOM LIMB**

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

“…Vinny?”

Rhiannon felt like the world had stopped spinning. She stared in wonderment at what had to be a ghost, what couldn’t possibly be her husband. But as he crossed to her, looking as dazed as she felt, as his rough fingers took her face into a gentle hold and proved that they both were real, her heart swelled with a thousand nameless emotions. She threw her arms around Vincent, pulling him close and laughing incredulously. It was him, it was absolutely Vinny. Whatever impossibility had brought him here, to her, she couldn’t fathom, but in the moment it hardly mattered; her broken family was one step closer to being whole again.

_ Thud. _

“Simon!”

Turning back for a moment, Rhiannon saw the mechanic had fainted, her mind drifting back to when she’d met him, when he’d promised to investigate her Vault… he’d seen Vinny too. As Piper and Cherry both attended to the unconscious man, Rhiannon turned back to Vincent, tears in her eyes.

“You’re here… you’re alive…” Vincent said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I… I saw him shoot you,” Rhiannon replied, taking Vincent’s face in her hands and running her fingers over the scar on his temple. “How...?”

“I wasn’t gone… the ice… kept me until they came,” Vincent responded, “They said I was the only one… what happened? How long were you gone? Where’s our boy? Where’s Shaun?”

“Shaun-” Rhiannon had to stop, a lump in her throat as her tears began to spill over. “I’m looking for him. The Institute has him. That’s why I’m here.”

“This Institute?” Maxson spoke up, slamming a fist into his palm, “Their evil truly knows no bounds… We will double our efforts in finding them, and we  _ will _ help you bring home your son. This, I promise.”

“Thank you, Elder Maxson,” Vincent briefly turned before returning his attention to Rhiannon, “Where is he. That son of a bitch who took Shaun, do you know where he is?”

Rhiannon reached down to her hip, and pressed into Vincent’s hands the very gun that she believed had stolen his life. “He’s dead.”

Vincent’s eyes widened for a moment as he stared down at the gun, the horrible sound it made being the last thing he’d remembered of his old life. Part of him was tempted to throw the weapon off the Prydwen, to destroy the last lingering memory of the man who’d ‘killed’ him… but…

“Good… good.” Vincent’s voice hardened as he clutched the weapon tightly. After a moment, he looked past Rhiannon, at where Cherry and Piper worked to revive Simon, “Who are they?”

“Those are my friends,” Rhiannon replied, “Piper is a journalist and Simon is a mechanic.”

“Your… friends, or your  _ friends _ ?” Vinny’s eyes narrowed. Before Rhiannon could respond, Piper had walked up behind her, extending her hand to him.

“Piper Wright, Publick Occurrences. And you are…?”

The soldier stared at her hand and did not shake it, “Vincent DiMaggio.”

“I’m not irradiated,” Piper joked, but let her hand drop.

“My head…” Simon groaned as he came back to life, Cherry holding him upright.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be angry…” Vincent sighed, looking at Rhiannon, “After all, you thought I was dead… but-”

“No, no, it’s not like that. Simon and Piper are engaged,” Rhiannon said, laughing a little.

“Oh.” Vincent let out a sigh of relief, “Thank God… good to see you didn’t go full dyke without me.”

Rhiannon’s smile dropped. Piper’s head tilted sharply to the side.

“Excuse you?” The reporter’s eyes narrowed.

“I understand that society collapsed after the bombs fell, but-”

“ _ This _ is the husband you were upset about losing?” Piper turned to Rhiannon, more than finished with listening to another word out of Vincent’s mouth. “ _ You _ married  _ this _ ?”

“You watch your tongue, woman, or I will tear it out.” Vincent pushed past Rhiannon, looming over Piper.

“Hey!” Simon, previously still in a degree of shock on the floor, sprang to his feet, getting between Piper and Vincent, “Don’t fucking talk about them like that!”

“Stay out of this you worthless little-”

The rest of his sentence, and the beginning of a slur that made Simon’s skin crawl, was cut short as Rhiannon’s fist connected with Vincent’s mouth. The nearby Brotherhood soldiers, watching the reunion with expressions hidden behind helms of steel, reached for their weapons but froze, not knowing how to proceed or whether to intervene. Even Maxson blinked twice at the scene before him.

“Jesus Christ!” Rhiannon flexed her fingers, the impact against Vinny’s jaw leaving her knuckles aching. She pushed through the pain, taking her turn to stand up to Vincent. “Piper’s right; you’re a piece of shit. You’ve  _ always _ been a piece of shit.”

“What the  _ fuck _ did you just say to me?” Vincent asked, pulling his hand away from his mouth, red stains against his fingers.

“I said you’re a piece of shit,” Rhiannon repeated, holding onto the surge of confidence she’d found. “Maybe I overlooked it before, maybe I didn’t want to see it, but you’ve always been an asshole, and you don’t get to speak to them like that. Simon’s done more for me in just a few months than you  _ ever _ did. You can go back to hell, Vinny. We’re  _ done _ .”

Reaching into her pocket, Rhiannon pulled out Vinny’s wedding ring, and then pulled her own off her finger. There was a moment’s hesitation; this had been the last link to her life before that she’d kept all this time. But that life was over, and the Rhiannon that stood here today was much stronger than the one who had walked into that Vault. As the man seethed, she hurled the rings off the side of the airship, watching as they vanished into the empty air.

“Come on,” Rhiannon nodded to Simon and Piper, “We’re getting our power armor and leaving.”

“Right behind you.” Simon replied, glaring at Vincent as the three of them passed by.

* * *

**January 23rd, 2288.**

The grinding of metal on metal came to a halt as the cog-shaped elevator reached its destination. As the gate lifted, a soldier in power armor turned to his three comrades.

“Alright, keep close. We don’t know what’s in here.” The light of his helm sparking to life, the Knight-Sergeant stomped forward, leading two Scribes and a Knight up the stairs and into the Vault.

“What do you think this Vault was used for?” One of the scribes asked, looking around the abandoned lobby, almost giddy at the prospect of discovery.

“Who knows,” The other pointed out the long-decayed remains of a Radroach, “But I doubt we’re the only ones who’ve been in here.”

“Scavvers may have combed through, but there may be some valuable technical information that Proctor Quinlan can use somewhere in here.” The Knight shrugged, relaxing ever so slightly.

“Look there,” The Knight-Sergeant pointed forward, “There’s something up ahead.”

The four moved forward, the Knight-Sergeant covering the front, the Knight covering the rear, Scribes in the middle. At the end of a hallway, lay a room lined with pods, all but one sealed shut.

“This looks like some kind of… cryo facility…” One of the Scribes gasped.

“Let me check this computer.” The second scribe moved to the terminal, tapping at the keys.

“I got your back.” The Knight-Sergeant turned to face the door, rifle raised, “Scribe Morse, investigate the other pods. Knight Cormac, cover her.”

“Got it.”

“Yes sir.”

Cormac and Morse slowly walked down the rows of pods, looking in at the various Vault dwellers, faces frozen in expressions of fear. Morse visibly shrank away from the pods, moving to press closer to Cormac’s back.

“Jesus,” Cormac muttered, “The hell was Vault-Tec thinking? If they were planning on thawing these people back out…”

“I don’t want to think about it.” Morse shivered. “Whatever they wanted to do, it looks like it didn’t happen. At least, I hope not.”

“Cormac! Cherry!” The other scribe called from the terminal, “It looks like somebody powered down life support on all the pods except two. C6 and C7.”

“C7’s open already!” Cormac called back.

“Maybe whoever’s in C6 is still alive!” Morse- or Cherry, as the other Scribe called her- hurried down the line of pods to find the one indicated. She pressed her face close to the glass hopefully. Inside was a man, a thin layer of frost coating his skin, a bullet wound in his temple.

“You might wanna check again; this guy’s dead as shit,” Cormac replied as he fell into step behind Cherry.

“Nope, terminal says he’s still got life signs!”

“He got shot in the head, the fuck you mean he’s got life signs?!”

“I don’t know, maybe he got froze just after he got shot?”

“People survive shots to the head sometimes,” Cherry added. “It depends on where the bullet hit. Heck, my cousin in New Vegas said-”

“Open the pod.” All eyes turned back to the Knight-Sergeant.

“I’m… sorry?” The scribe at the terminal blinked.

“Open it. If that data is right, we’re looking at a genuine Pre-War combat veteran. Just imagine what he could teach us.”

“Or he’ll fuckin’  _ die  _ because he’s got a  _ bullet in the fucking head _ ,” Cormac responded.

“Cut the sass, Cormac. I’m still in charge of this op, and I say we open the pod.”

“Whatever the fuck you say, Powell,” Cormac grumbled.

“I’m sorry,  _ what was that _ , soldier?” Powell growled, his voice dipping an octave as it echoed around the forgotten tomb.

“Yes sir.” Cormac saluted after a moment.

“Good. Scribe Morse, how are you with surgical equipment?”

“Uh… I’m not…  _ terrible _ with it,” Cherry replied slowly. “I mean if we have some kind of guide or- or someone could talk me through it that’d be ideal. Real swell.”

“You’re handling emergency surgery,” Powell ordered, “Knight Cormac, assist however you can. Scribe Verne and I will go back to the Vertibird and attempt to radio for backup.”

“Why don’t we just  _ wait for backup _ , sir?” Cormac barely managed to mask the contempt in his voice.

“That’s a good idea.” Cherry nodded rapidly, her voice even faster than usual as she wrung her hands. “Backup’s probably, um, the best bet we have for saving him. The ice has kept him this long after all.”

“Cherry- I mean… Scribe Morse has a point.” Scribe Verne coughed into his fist.

“Have you forgotten the thunderstorm outside?” Powell snapped, “We may not even get through to the Prydwen, and if we do there’s no guarantee that-”

“Again, we could just… wait? It’s not like he’s going anywhere.”

Powell paused, “Off the record? I hate you, Cormac.”

“The feeling is mutual,  _ sir _ .”

“Alright, let’s sweep the rest of the Vault, then radio for backup,” Powell motioned the rest to join him as he stomped away. As the team dispersed through the Vault, Cherry frowned up at the frozen man, and set a hand against the glass.

“We’ll be back for you in a second.”

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

After convincing their Vertibird pilot to drop them off near Diamond City, Rhiannon, Simon, and Piper endured an agonizingly quiet flight. The General was suited up in her Brotherhood power armor, turning the helmet over in her hands. Simon, as opposed to the flight there, was considerably more composed, his hand tightly gripping Piper’s as he stared into space.

“Gonna set you down in the C.I.T. courtyard,” The pilot called back to them, “From there, I’m pretty sure you know where to go. Good luck finding those beacons, Knight.”

Rhiannon gave the Brotherhood salute, but said nothing, still lost in thoughts and the contradicting emotions that stormed in her chest. She didn’t even notice the Vertibird had left until Simon spoke up.

“That guy… was an asshole. Was he  _ always _ that…?”

“Not-” Rhiannon stopped herself. “Yeah, I think so. I didn’t... I didn’t want to see it, and I don’t remember him being quite so...”

She sighed. “Probably. I feel so stupid for not realizing it.”

“You okay, Blue?” Piper put her hand on the forearm of Rhiannon’s power armor.

“No, I’m just sorry you two had to deal with that.” Rhiannon looked to her friends. “I… I’ve come to accept that my husband died. I just have to hold onto that acceptance.”

“If I knew… fuck,” Simon looked at the ground in shame, “I’m sorry I pushed you to join those assholes. Shit. This is fucked. Now you gotta work with the Brotherhood of shitheads and your asshole ex… I’m sorry.”

“Well,” Piper said, in the tone of voice so often used by someone seeking a silver lining in a thunderstorm, “At least we have the power armor?”

“And the SOB’s of the BoS think we’re out looking for beacons,” Rhiannon added. “So, if we’re lucky, we might not have to talk to them again for awhile.”

“Let’s go back to Diamond City,” Simon sighed, still looking rather dispirited, “Meet up with the rest of the group.”

“Missing Lilith?” Rhiannon teased, trying to lighten the mood, for her own sake as well as Simon’s.

“I mean… I  _ kinda  _ cheated on her, didn’t I?” Simon put his hands in his pockets.

“No, that’s all on me,” Piper said, shaking her head. “I’m sorry about uh… what happened belowdecks. I didn’t really have a better solution.”

“No, I mean, it’s fine, it was pretty good, I mean…” Simon stuttered over his words, trying to ease Piper’s mind but only working himself into a panic in the process, “I’m gonna shut up now.”

“Probably a good idea,” the reporter agreed.

The walk back to Diamond City was fairly short, and fairly quiet. No one really wanted to talk about the Brotherhood of Steel, or Vincent DiMaggio, or the fact that whenever Piper and Simon were near Brotherhood-occupied territory they had to feign marriage. The patrolling guards of Diamond City Security gave second looks to the group as they passed by, looks Piper was more than happy to return with a shit-eating grin.

“Hey, is that-” Simon blinked as they watched a group of armed mercenaries and a dog sprint out of the front gate, “Lily! MacCready! Valentine!”

“Bark!” Dogmeat took a sharp turn to the right, sprinting up to the reporter, mechanic, and power armor clad Rhiannon, dancing, bouncing, and running in circles around them.

“Hey! You got your armor!” Lilith veered off after Dogmeat, hurrying up to the group. “That was fast!”

“Rook, come on!” MacCready shouted, before doubling back and rushing to join them. “We have to go!”

“Lily! My lovely girlfriend, light of my life-” Simon wrapped Lilith in a tight embrace, lifting her off the ground.

“You had to fake date Piper, didn’t you?” Lilith guessed, but kissed his cheek anyways.

“I had to fake date Piper.”

“You have all the fun.”

“Welcome back, but we’ve gotta move,” Valentine nodded towards the direction they’d been heading, “A courier came by with a message from Hancock. Our mutual friend Cait has fallen ill.”

“Ill?” Rhiannon nearly dropped her helmet. “What’s wrong? Is she in Goodneighbor?”

“Yeah, come on, we gotta hurry!” MacCready urged them to follow.

* * *

**January 24th, 2288.**

It wasn’t until after midnight that the backup finally arrived. The storm still raged, providing ample cover for the medical team’s entry into Vault 111, where Knight-Sergeant Powell met the three newcomers at the elevator.

“Knight-Sergeant Powell,” A man in medical fatigues saluted.

“Knight-Captain Adams,” Powell saluted back, “Vault records identify the frozen individual as Vincent DiMaggio, a Pre-War combat veteran. Mr. DiMaggio has sustained a gunshot wound to the head, which Scribe Morse has identified as coming from a .44 caliber handgun. Knight Cormac suggested immediate surgery, but I determined that bringing in a qualified medical team to be a better option.”

“Very good, Powell, that was the correct response, given the nature of the injury described,” Knight-Captain Adams nodded, “Have you found anything else?”

“Yes, sir,” Powell continued as he led Adams and the two additional medics deeper into the Vault, “It appears that in his spare time, the Overseer of Vault 111 was working on a weapon of some sort called the Cryolator. It is sealed behind-”

“Got it!” Cherry’s voice carried into the room as she entered, holding the large firearm above her head proudly. After a moment of showing off her prize, she lowered it and held it close. “This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and I am studying this the very moment we get back!”

Powell blinked twice, “…Good work, Scribe Morse.”

“Do you happen to know what the Cryolator does, Scribe?” Adams asked.

“It’s basically a flamer that freezes things,” Scribe Verne responded, poking his head out of a doorway.

“Which, admittedly, is not really my style, but the tech in this is invaluable,” Cherry added.

“Knight-Captain, may we proceed to Mr. DiMaggio?” Powell coughed into his power armored fist.

“Yes, of course.”

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

Arriving in Goodneighbor close to eight o’clock in the evening, all eyes turned as the woman in power armor pushed past the entry. Two fights and a drinking contest stopped dead as the residents stared at the group.

“What are you looking at?” MacCready snapped at the crowd. Within moments they were back to their business, “Hancock’s got her in the Rexford, let’s go.”

“Whoa, hold on a minute,” Simon stepped in front of Rhiannon before she could take a step, “Is there anywhere we could leave that power armor? I don’t think the Rexford can handle someone in power armor stomping around…”

“Well, KL-E-0 has a frame,” MacCready pointed to where the assaultron hocked her wares, “But she may charge us rent to leave it there… and extra to make sure someone doesn’t walk off with it.”

“I can hang back and watch it,” Valentine offered. Rhiannon turned to give the Synth a grateful smile, but caught him shoving his mechanical hand into his pocket as the fingers spasmed.

“You alright, Nick?” Rhiannon asked.

“I’m fine,” Valentine responded with a nod, “Let’s get you out of that armor and into the Rexford.”

“Aaaaand  _ there’s _ a mental image that’s gonna haunt me for the rest of my life,” Simon groaned, covering his face with a hand.

* * *

**January 26th, 2288.**

“Well, his life signs are stabilizing,” Cade hummed, looking between electronic equipment and a clipboard of information, “But there’s no telling how that bullet will have affected him. If my predictions are correct, there’ll be minor memory loss and some heightened aggression at best. At worst, he’ll be no better than a feral ghoul.”

“Then we’ll hope for the best,” Maxson sighed, “It would be a shame to lose such a capable soldier and a source of Pre-War knowledge never before seen by the Brotherhood.”

“I’ll keep you updated, Elder.” Cade saluted.

“Scribe Morse, could you keep an eye on the patient,” Maxson turned to Cherry, “I’d like to have a word with Knight-Captain Cade in private.”

“Absolutely, Elder,” Cherry replied, as chipper as ever but with her attention undivided from the small fragmentation mine she’d been constructing on the nightstand.

“For the love of-” Cade snatched the mine away, “What have I told you about building explosives in the sickbay?!”

“To not do it?”

“And  _ what  _ were you doing?”

“Building an explosive in the sickbay…”

“We  _ will _ have words about this, Scribe Morse,” Elder Maxson threatened, “For now, simply watch Mr. DiMaggio, and report any changes in his condition.”

“Yes, Elder.” Cherry sank down in her seat.

With that, Maxson and Cade exited the sickbay, leaving Cherry alone with the unconscious man on the medical bed, a repetitive beeping accompanying the ambience of the Prydwen. The Scribe sighed, spinning the screwdriver she’d been using between her fingers and frowning down at the floor.

“Not allowed to build explosives in the sickbay. Maybe if I didn’t know what I was doing, which, I  _ do _ ,” she muttered to herself.

“Yeah, but something could still go wrong,” Cormac said from the doorway.

“So I lose a few fingers. We can make new ones,” Cherry shrugged, looking up at Cormac with a small smile.

“It ain’t your fingers  _ they’re _ worried about. Now  _ me  _ on the other hand…” Cormac stepped into the room, finding a seat near Cherry to sink into, “…I’d hate to see you get hurt. Besides, fingers are pretty important… would you trust prosthetics for delicate tasks over flesh and bone?”

“No, you’re probably right.” Cherry flexed her fingers, wiggling them. “It’s just... sometimes I wonder if I’m really cut out for all of this. I mean, there are  _ so  _ many protocols, and rules, and regulations. It’s stifling.”

“Yeah… but we’re doing good work though.”

“Yeah, no, I know. I believe in what we’re doing, and there’s nowhere else I could access this kind of tech but... well, you know...”

“I know.”

A comfortable silence settled between the Scribe and the Knight for a few moments, interrupted only by the steady beeping of the various monitors that kept tabs on the vitals of the man from Vault 111.

"Powell took credit for keeping him on ice until backup arrived and threw me under the bus…  _ again _ ."

“Seriously?” Cherry scoffed. “Powell’s a jerk. At some point all of his bull is going to catch back up to him, and then he’ll be sorry.”

“I hope he falls off the Prydwen and lands on his stupid fucking face,” Cormac grumbled, “How does he keep getting away with shit like this?”

“Because he has seniority, I guess?” Cherry offered with a shrug. “No offense, but Knights and Paladins, and especially those with higher ranks, could probably get away with murder. They never seem to face consequences for anything.”

“At least the ones the brass like…” Cormac sunk lower into the seat, a deep frown on his face.

“Well, for what it’s worth,  _ I _ like you.” Cherry reached over and set her hand over Cormac’s. “Even though you’re my main competition for having the most write ups.”

The Knight let out a tiny chuckle, “Well, you  _ earned  _ your write-ups.”

“Yeah, I don’t just get things handed to me by the higher ups,” Cherry laughed.

Cormac’s eyes drifted down to Cherry’s hand, resting over his own, then back up to meet her’s. Cherry smiled back, giving his hand a small squeeze.

_ Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. _

“Cherry?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s that beeping sound?”

_ Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep. _

“Oh crap!” Cherry jumped up from her seat. “Go and get Knight-Captain Cade!”

Cormac rushed out of the room while Cherry fretted over the monitors, trying to see what was going on. She couldn’t see any obvious issues, but the beeping was so insistent-

“Who the fuck are you?!”

The Scribe let out a small scream, jumping almost a foot back from the bed. The man had regained consciousness.

“Where the fuck am I? Where’s my wife? Where the  _ fuck  _ is  _ my son _ ?!” Vincent tried to push himself to sit upright, but didn’t seem to have the strength.

“S-sir, I don’t know,” Cherry stuttered, moving back and carefully trying to help him lay back down. “But you were very badly injured and we’re patching you back up. You’re safe now, with the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“Who?!” Vinny demanded.

“The Brotherhood of Steel,” Cherry repeated. “My name is Scribe Cerise Morse, and I was a part of the team that found you in Vault 111.”

“So, he’s regained consciousness,” Maxson commented as Cormac led him and Cade back into the Sickbay, “Excellent. Scribe Morse, you are dismissed. Cade can handle it from here, and I would like to explain to our patient what has occured.”

“Yes, Elder.” Cherry glanced back at Vincent, before quickly joining Cormac in the doorway and following him out.

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

“How is she?” MacCready asked, sitting next to where Cait lie on the bed, tossing and turning in a restless sleep.

“Better now, but she really had us scared for awhile,” Hancock answered from where he leaned against the wall, “I mean, when you cough blood and then faint… that’s usually a bad sign.”

“What was she doing right before that?” Piper asked, slowly pacing the room with her notepad open.

“Nothin’,” Hancock shrugged, “Just… chillin’. Not even doin’ chems, just drinkin’ at the Third Rail.”

“Maybe her drink was poisoned?” Lilith offered, chewing her nails nervously.

“Maybe…” Hancock sighed, “I mean, there’s a few people I can think of who’d wanna take a shot at me. Might’ve put a mickey in the wrong glass. Might’ve thought getting her would be the way to do it, since she’s my newest companion.”

“Companion?”

“Not  _ that  _ kind of companion, but apparently I’m her first stop if she decides to go ghoul.”

“And that’s  _ another  _ mental image I can’t erase.” Simon hit his head against the wall.

“Is there anything we can do?” Rhiannon asked.

“Well…” Hancock hummed, “If she was poisoned… you should probably get her some antibiotics. We don’t know what hit her, so maybe run some RadAway through her system too, see if it’ll get flushed out.”

“I know how to make antibiotics,” Simon raised his hand as he turned away from the wall, a pronounced red mark on his forehead, “Three stimpacks, three units of glowing fungus, two cans of purified water, and two units of acid. Do we have all that around here?”

“Fred’s got all that shit… probably.” Hancock shrugged, “I’ll cover the cost of making the antibiotics, and I’ll help ya cook.”

“You mean you’ll huff Jet while Simon cooks.” MacCready rolled his eyes.

“Lily and I can get some RadAway,” Piper spoke up next, “Rhiannon, you should check in with Nick, let him know what’s up.”

“Okay.” Lily reached out to give MacCready’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “We’ll be back before y’all can even think to miss us.”

* * *

**February 2nd, 2288.**

“Congratulations, Initiate DiMaggio,” Knight-Captain Cade said as he presented Vincent with an olive green and black jumpsuit, “You’ve got a clean bill of health.”

“Thank you, Knight-Captain,” Vincent nodded from his seat on the edge of the bed.

“Now, we need to run through a series of medical-related questions before I can clear you for training and active duty. Standard procedure.” Cade grabbed a clipboard.

“Alright… let’s get this over with.”

“First question: as a child, were you exposed to radiation for an extended period of time?”

“You know the answer to that,” Vincent answered with an eyeroll.

“Of course you weren’t, but we have to go through the list… You understand, of course,” Cade sighed, “Second question: have you ever had or come into contact with a person confirmed to be carrying a communicable disease?”

“Maybe in Anchorage,” Vincent shook his head, “But I never got sick. A few buddies did, but I was fine.”

“Well… you don’t seem to be showing any long-term symptoms of anything on record… just let us know if something comes up.” Cade compared two different clipboards before returning to his questionnaire, “Third question… have you ever had sexual relations with any species considered non-human? You know what, I’m just gonna mark this as a no.”

“Mark it as a never.” Vincent spat, “I can’t believe anyone would put their dick in a zombie.”

“Personally, I find it distasteful, but you’d be surprised how often it happens…” Cade grimaced, “Last question: would you have any problems pulling the trigger on an enemy of the Brotherhood of Steel, whether they’re human, formerly human, or machine?”

Vincent answered immediately, “No problem whatsoever.”

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

Rhiannon made her way back towards what passed as Goodneighbor’s market, feeling uneasy walking the streets on her own. Luckily, it didn’t take long to return to KL-E-0’s shop, where Valentine stood near her power armor.

The Synth was examining his metallic hand, fingers curling and uncurling slowly as he turned the hand over, back and forth. It was unusual behavior, but Rhiannon would have thought more of it if she didn’t constantly find the detective taking a screwdriver to that very hand.

“Hey, Nick, getting bored?” Rhiannon teased, but her smile died as Valentine looked up, his eyes glowing a dull orange as opposed to their usual bright yellow. Her blood chilled in her veins as she heard Kellogg’s low, taunting chuckle slip from between her friend’s lips. 

And then Valentine’s eyes brightened, and the ghost was gone. He blinked at her a few times, then made a sound like he was clearing his throat. “You say something, kid?”

“I...” Rhiannon shook her head, trying to ground herself. “No- I mean, yes. Yeah. Just checking up on you.”

“Out here on the streets of Goodneighbor alone, people looking at me like I’m a hot pile of scrap metal ready for the taking? Guarding incredibly valuable armor? Never better.”

“Alright, no need to get sassy,” Rhiannon replied, holding up her hands in mock surrender and mentally assuring herself it was just her imagination playing tricks on her; it had to be. Another phantom plaguing her tired mind after a long day of unpleasant echoes from the past.

“So what’s the diagnosis?” Valentine asked, crossing his arms.

“We think someone tried to poison her drink at the Third Rail. No suspects yet, but Simon’s trying to make some antitoxin to flush her system.”

“No suspects, eh?” Nick rose from his seat, “Well, I’ve worked with less… you think MacCready would be interested in partnering up with me again to solve this little mystery?”

“You can definitely ask him,” Rhiannon answered. “I bet Hancock will be more than happy to compensate you two for your efforts, and MacCready doesn’t turn down payment.”

“Well, alright,” Valentine gave Rhiannon a small smile, “We’ll do some snooping and figure out what happened… but what do we do about your little red dress?”

“Shit.” Rhiannon frowned up at the power armor. “I’ll keep a watch on it. You and the others go ahead and get to the bottom of this.”

Nick tipped his hat to Rhiannon and disappeared around the corner. As he left, Rhiannon ran her hands over her eyes, doing all in her power to expel that cold fear that still curled in her guts. It was just her imagination. Just her imagination…

* * *

**February 28th, 2288.**

“Congratulations,  _ Knight _ DiMaggio,” Maxson saluted, “You have come far within the past month, and your judgement during your investigation into the missing supplies and successful apprehension of Initiate Clarke only proves your embodiment of Brotherhood ideals.”

“Thank you, Elder Maxson.” Vincent bowed his head slightly as he saluted back, “What are my next orders?”

“In a few days time, we will begin an assault on Fort Strong to remove those abominable Super Mutants and relieve them of their stores of Mini Nukes. I want you to spearhead this mission. Until then, rest, prepare, and get used to your new suit of power armor. You’ll need it. Dismissed, Knight.”

Turning on his heel, head held high, Vincent marched back towards the ladder that led into the belly of the Prydwen. Already a Knight, and already leading missions? It wouldn’t be long until he could lead a recon team to scour the Commonwealth for his wife, his son, and that bald bastard who shot him.

His thoughts of vengeance consumed his mind, until he realized that he was in the engineering bay, staring up at his suit of power armor, and that Scribe who’d been there when he awoke was talking to him.

“-And so all you have to worry about really are the fusion cores, but we’ll supply you with plenty of those.” Cherry paused to take a breath, smiling up at Vincent. “Easy peasy, right?”

“Yeah,” Vinny nodded, “Can’t be too different from the suit I had in the war, right?”

“Right,” the Scribe confirmed with a few nods. “It’s about the same tech, more or less. We haven’t made too many wild advances. Yet. I’m working on it though. I have this idea for a new-”

“Maybe you could just  _ show _ me,” Vinny suggested, stepping a bit closer to the Scribe. He couldn’t deny that the young woman was attractive, even with her scars, very much in the way Rhiannon was when they first met… and Rhiannon was gone. Dead or taken, but either way… she wasn’t here.

“Well, I’d love to, but I don’t have any prototypes just yet.” Cherry ran a hand through her hair. “I can show you some designs if you’d like. You have more experience with the practical application of all my theories.”

“That would certainly be interesting…” Vincent leaned against a nearby workbench, “I’m sure if we meet together, all kinds of things will be on the table.”

“Uh…” Cherrybomb blinked twice, beginning to lose track of their conversation. “Yeah... We can brainstorm.”

Before Vincent could say any more, a voice called from across the bay, “Cherry! My rifle’s all fucked! Can you take a look at it, please?”

“Be right there, Cormac!” Cherry called back. “I’ll talk to you later, Vinny.”

“Looking forward to it.” Vincent nodded back with a subtle smirk. The Scribe quirked her head as she walked away.

“Alright, what did you do to break it this time?”

“Wait, hold on…” Cormac double-checked his rifle, “No, I got it. Fusion cell was loose. Easy fix.”

“Seriously?” Cherry rolled her eyes. “Well, you have a real problem, you know where to find me.”

“Yes I do, ma’am,” Cormac gave the Scribe a mock salute, “Yes indeed.”

* * *

**March 1st, 2288.**

“Hey Lilith, Piper,” Simon called as they descended the stairs into the Hotel Rexford’s chem lab, “Almost done here. You get the RadAway?”

“Sure do!” Lily called back, hands full. “And some for the road. Or the Sea, as it is.”

“You guys are something else,” Hancock laughed as he shook a vial vigorously, “Going into the Glowing Sea? You’re gonna come out looking as good as me… ha! I’m a poet and I didn’t even realize!”

“No one can look as good as you, Hancock,” Lily said flatteringly, as she set the RadAway down for them. The mercenary kissed Simon on the cheek and looked over his shoulder at the work.

“So I was thinking we run the RadAway before the antibiotics,” Simon started to ramble as he and Hancock worked, “That way we get as much sludge out of her system before we put the antibiotics in. I mean, there’s no guarantee that they’ll even do anything, but it might give her system a boost in fighting off whatever-”

“We should get going,” Piper grabbed a package of RadAway, “MacCready and Valentine are going out to investigate what happened, so we’d better keep an eye on Cait.”

“We’ll be upstairs, sugar. Holler if you need us.”

“I’ll come running,” Simon winked at Lily, planting a quick kiss on her lips before returning to his work.

Lilith reluctantly left Simon and Hancock to their work, following Piper up the stairs and into the room where Cait lay. The redhead’s rest was less fitful than when they’d first seen her, but she still murmured in her sleep, the sheets covered in sweat.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize,” Piper put a hand on Lily’s bicep as the door closed behind them, “For everything with Simon. I didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries, and I know I did-”

“Hey, don’t sweat it.” Lilith shrugged, offering the reporter a smile. “It was all fake, and it was a pretty good scheme. Just... maybe don’t stick your tongue down his throat anymore?”

“Well…” Piper rubbed the back of her neck, “The Brotherhood thinks we’re getting married so… I’ll try not to.”

“I know, he’s hard to keep your hands off of, right?” Lily winked. “That’s why I got dibs when we first met him.”

“You certainly did… in this room, no less,” Piper laughed.

“Yeah.” Lily grinned, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Feels like it’s been a lot longer than it has been.”

“It certainly does…” Piper let out a long sigh, “Somehow it feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago at the same time.”

“Yeah… That month apart was rough though, huh?”

“Not gonna lie, it kinda was. I missed you all. Hanging out with you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to my paper.”

“Well, we’re all very fascinating people.” Lilith drew herself up with faux pride.

“Yep,” Piper drew out the vowel, popping the ‘p’ sound, “The woman out of time, an ex-courier from New Vegas, the formerly last minuteman, a Synth detective, a pit fighter, and a pair of lovable mercenaries…”

“Bark!” Dogmeat, who had been diligently watching over Cait, lifted his head from off her legs.

“How could I forget you?” Piper gasped, rubbing either side of the dog’s face. His tail thumped happily against the bed.

A moment of silence fell over them as Piper and Lilith both ran their hands over the German Shepherd.

“So, gal to gal… what’s the deal with you and MacCready?”

“What d’ya mean?”

“Lil… come on…” Piper gave her a knowing look, “It’s  _ obvious  _ that he’s head over heels for you. So… what happened? Or rather  _ didn’t  _ happen?”

“Well, first of all, he ain’t head over heels for me,” Lilith specified quickly. “He’s… got his baggage. We met about the time I got out of the raider game a few years ago- don’t ask- and started running together. We hit it off, fucked around a bit, and uh, you know… decided we were better as friends.”

“I get the feeling there’s a little more to it than that,” Piper shrugged, “But hey, I get it. You don’t go opening up someone else’s baggage, especially to a reporter.”

“Exactly. No offense,” Lily sighed.

“But, off the record?” Piper leaned in, “I’ve been catching the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking. It’s a dead ringer for how  _ Simon _ looks at you.”

“MacCready’s not in love with me,” Lilith said, suddenly serious. “Look, ‘off the record,’ I caught feelings for him, I tried my damndest to make it work, and he didn’t want me. Okay? So we’re just friends.”

“Whoa, okay,” Piper put her hands up in surrender, “Jeez, I’m sorry.”

“It’s… fine.” Lilith took a deep breath. “It’s just, you know… I’m moving on. And he’s not.”

* * *

“I can’t believe you brought the ‘monkey suit’ as you called it with you. It’s almost like you  _ like _ the damn thing.”

“I… uhh… must’ve packed it in the rush.”

“Sure, kid. Whatever you say.”

In matching grey trench coats and battered fedoras, Valentine and MacCready descended into the Third Rail. Magnolia was singing a sultry, slow song, enrapturing the audience in attendance.

“So, we just gotta have a little chat with Charlie about what happened, and we’ll work from there,” Valentine drawled as he looked around the room.

“So do you think he’d rather talk to me or-”

“Hey, MacCready!” A man sitting alone at one of the tables, clearly a few drinks in, called out. “What the  _ fuck _ kinda bullshit are you wearing?”

As Magnolia finished a song to raucous applause, MacCready took the moment to slam the man’s head into the table. If anyone noticed, they didn’t say anything as the mercenary straightened out his jacket.

“You’re the smooth talker around here,” Valentine offered, once MacCready was back at his side. “Go ahead I’ll have your back.”

MacCready nodded and approached the bar. After a few moments, Whitechapel Charlie hovered over, one eye on MacCready, the other two on the lookout for trouble.

“Long time no see, MacCready…” Charlie droned, grabbing and polishing a glass before setting it with the others, “Usually you’ve got a girl on your arm… trying something new?”

“No!” MacCready stammered, “No!”

“Relax, kid.” Valentine rolled his eyes.

“So, you here to wet your whistle, or for work?” Charlie asked, an eye leaning in towards the pair.

“Here for answers, actually,” Valentine said, leaning an elbow against the counter. “Friend of ours is under the weather.”

“You talkin’ about that last girl of your’s?” A second eye swung around to focus on MacCready, “Yeah, she was in here with Hancock last night… started coughing blood an’ fainted.”

“We think someone put something in her drink,” Nick continued, “See anyone shiftier than usual hanging around that night?”

“Hmm… matter of fact…” Charlie paused, his processors whirring, “There  _ was  _ this one bloke watching them like a hawk. Leather jacket, topknot, .44 handgun on his-”

“Wolfgang.” MacCready growled, turning on his heel.

“H-hey! Who dressed-” The man from before attempted to mock the rifleman again, only for MacCready to silence him with a right hook.

* * *

“Just about… done…” Simon sighed, “Just gotta put the components in the injector and-”

“So  _ you’re _ fucking Lily, huh?” Hancock asked, swirling around a vial disinterestedly. “Didn’t take you for her type, personally. But I guess the heart wants what it wants.”

“I… what?!” Simon came to a dead stop as he turned to the ghoul, “Wh-what do you… what?! My… her… type?!”

“Well, she tended to go for the more action hero fellas, and the femme fatale kinda gals.” Hancock smirked. “But I guess a mechanic’s good with his hands.”

“I…” Simon blinked, “I…”

“Jesus kid, I’m just fucking with ya.” Hancock chuckled to himself. “You’re easy to fluster. That could get ya killed out there in the big, bad Wasteland.”

Simon took a deep breath before giving the mayor an annoyed glare, “I used to be a courier in New Vegas, I’d like to think I can handle myself.”

“Sure, sure. I just hope you can handle Lils, too. She’s a real risk taker. But I bet you figured that out already.”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded, holding up the finished antibiotic injector up to the light, “Always doing some crazy shit and getting in trouble.”

“Wild in the sheets too.” Hancock’s smirk became a grin.

“Yeah…” Simon sighed contentedly before realizing  _ how  _ Hancock must’ve acquired the knowledge, “I’m gonna take this upstairs now bye.”

With that, Simon was gone and Hancock was laughing on the floor.

* * *

_ “The Silver Shroud- was walking along- on the lookout for crime- when out of an orange-colored sky- HERE COMES A GIANT FIST-” _

Rhiannon idly fidgeted with her Pip Boy, flipping between radio stations and keeping herself mildly amused by listening to the pieces of conversation, radio dramas, and songs string some nonsense together. It had been a long,  _ long _ day, and she wasn’t exactly prepared to process all of it.

She’d thought she had a grip again, for once. She’d been over the moon to see Vincent alive, and then… and then she remembered how much of an ass he was.  _ Absence sure as shit makes the heart grow fonder _ , she thought with a deep sigh.

“Hey, you okay over there?” A drifter in reflective sunglasses was leaned against the wall across from her, a cigarette between his fingertips.

“Just grand,” Rhiannon replied dryly, flipping back to Diamond City Radio.

“Rough day?” The stranger asked, flicking the cigarette away, “I get it. Sometimes you just wanna run away and hide out underground and pretend you’re someone else, am I right?”

“Yeah…” Rhiannon gave the stranger a sidelong glance. In Goodneighbor, she was used to thinly veiled threats from anyone who even held her gaze a moment too long. “Yeah, it’s been one of those days.”

“When I have those days, I like to hide out somewhere quiet to think…” The stranger stared wistfully into the distance, “Like the Old North Church. Real quiet there, except for when the ferals get in. Or you could take a nice long walk in the Commons… keeping away from Swan’s pond, of course.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

“No problem, buddy,” The man pushed off the wall, “See you ‘round.”

Rhiannon watched the man leave, shaking her head slightly at his familiarity. She wondered if he mistook her for someone else. But she didn’t have much time to wonder, as Valentine and MacCready made their way back to her.

“Bored out of your mind yet?” Valentine asked with a small chuckle.

“And then some,” Rhiannon replied, smiling at the Synth. “Did you find anything?”

“Well, it turns out our mutual friend Wolfgang was responsible for the whole thing,” As MacCready brought a cigarette to his lips, Rhiannon’s eyes caught the blood and bruises that painted the rifleman’s knuckles, “If he thought  _ we _ were bad… just wait until Hancock gets ahold of him. He’ll tear that punk to pieces.”

“Jesus,” Rhiannon breathed, “That man’s like a cockroach.”

“I don’t know what that means,” MacCready replied, “but if it’s anything like a  _ Radroach _ , then you’re right on the mark.”

“I can take over watching your suit if you wanna stretch your legs and check on Cait,” Valentine offered.

“Thanks, Nick.” Rhiannon stood from the milk crate she’d been seated on. Turning to MacCready, she added, “Let’s see if Simon’s been able to make that antitoxin.”

The mercenary only nodded as he fell in step with Rhiannon for the duration of the short walk to the Hotel Rexford. After a few beats of silence, Rhiannon reached over and gave the lapel of his coat a small tug.

“You kept Nick’s uniform, huh?”

“Must’ve packed it by accident in the rush to get here.” MacCready replied coolly.

“Well, it came in handy.” Rhiannon smiled. “Besides, it looks good on you. Very dashing.”

“Yeah, sure it does…” MacCready scoffed, but then paused, “Wait, you actually  _ mean _ that don’t you?”

“Of course I do. It’s a nice outfit.”

“Huh. Never took myself as the ‘dashing’ type. Maybe ‘devilishly handsome,’ but not dashing.”

“Never said you weren’t  _ also _ devilishly handsome,” Rhiannon teased as she held open the door to the Rexford for him.

“Isn’t it the  _ guy _ who’s supposed to hold the door open for the  _ lady _ ?” MacCready asked, despite stepping inside the hotel before her.

“Technically, sure. But I’m a Brotherhood member now, right? Gotta set a good example for my civilian friends.” Rhiannon winked.

“Oh, ha ha.” MacCready rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t pretend I’m not hilarious.” She bumped him with her elbow. “Come on, let’s go check on the others.”

The ascent to the room where Cait was housed was done so in comfortable silence. When they neared the door, MacCready jogged ahead to open it first.

“After you.”

“Such a gentleman.” Rhiannon gave a curtsey before entering the room.

“Took ya long enough,” Cait grumbled when she caught sight of them. The redhead was propped up in a sitting position, Dogmeat curled up at her side, and the pit fighter’s hand gently trailed up and down the German Shepherd’s back.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better.” Rhiannon beamed at Cait, moving to join the rest of the party in the room.

“Feeling like shite, t’be honest.” Cait sank back down into the pillows a little.

“You were poisoned,” MacCready found a seat on the edge of the bed, “That Wolfgang fucker put something in your drink.”

“Wolfgang, eh?” Hancock rose from his seat and threw away his empty container of Jet, “Where’d you leave ‘im? I think he and I need to have some words.”

“Handcuffed him around a beam in the warehouse by the Memory Den,” MacCready responded.

“Groovy,” Hancock grinned, “Where’d you leave Valentine at?”

“Down at KL-E-0’s,” Rhiannon answered. “He’s on guard duty right now.”

“Alright. I’ll swing by there and give him a little compensation for your fine work after I get Wolfgang. I’ll catch you cats later…” The Ghoul nodded, blowing a kiss to Lilith. Simon, sitting next to the mercenary, reached out into thin air, as if grabbing the imaginary kiss mid-flight, and then threw it to the floor.

“Fine, I’ll just get the real thing later,” Lily teased, while the others chuckled at Simon’s miming.

“You can get it here from me.” Simon pulled her into a kiss.

“Get a room,” Piper and MacCready said in unison. The reporter was laughing, the rifleman deliberately avoiding his gaze.

“Or don’t. That might be interesting.” Cait chuckled.

* * *

Far below the Prydwen, a man waded through the irradiated shallows. Guided by the light shining on his helmet, he dragged through the waters, looking for a long lost artifact. Finally, after hours of searching in the cold, his light caught the glimmer of the precious objects he sought.

Dipping his hands into the murky water, Vincent retrieved his old wedding ring, and the ring that had previously occupied Rhiannon’s finger. As he gazed upon them, memories came flooding back of good times, of joy, of love. His fist closed over them as the trail led to the man who’d shot him, who Rhiannon had killed, and their unceremonious divorce.

Taking a deep breath as he seethed, Vincent slipped the rings into a pocket. Whether he would keep them or not… they, like Rhiannon, were  _ his _ to preserve… or to destroy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been planned from the beginning. Vincent's return and status as an antagonist to Rhiannon. I suppose it's a mark of a good villain that even the writer hates him... he's hard to write for.


	28. The Room Where It Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the investigation into the murder of Moira's mutant continues, tensions between the leading figures of Nuka World reach a boiling point during the inner council meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up, buttercups.
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Graphic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Drug Use, Needles, Abusive Family
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Lin-Manuel Miranda.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT**

**THE ROOM WHERE IT HAPPENS**

* * *

**March 3rd, 2288.**

“Attention residents of Nuka World, It has been determined that the Disciples, Rust Devils, and Court of Murder are not responsible in any part for the incident two days ago. As such, the lockdown for those three gangs has officially been lifted. For the Harbingers, Pack, and Operators, the lockdown remains.”

After a burst of static, the radio returned to it’s regularly scheduled broadcast… after some complaining from RedEye about being interrupted. William Black paced nervously, biting at his nails.

“We’re fucked. We’re so fucked.”

“Will you calm down?” Mags rolled her eyes as she reclined on a loveseat, “Nobody knows we were involved, and all the evidence was properly disposed of. As long as Mason can keep his fucking mouth shut, it’ll never come down on our heads.”

“But Mags, the syringes-”

“I _said_ shut up!” Mags snapped, glaring over at her brother, “You’d better not crack like this under the Overboss, or _I’ll_ kill you.”

* * *

The Pack was not coping well with the lockdown.

Members paced nervously, like the animals they kept in cages. More than once, the tension led to brawling. Despite this, Mason still sat on his throne, resolute. If Mags had truly played her part, only a select few from each side would come under fire.

A few raiders executed or a couple thousand caps paid for a taste of vengeance was worth the price… but… anything more than that…

* * *

“And with the Rocket left unguarded-”

“I am well aware, Ellison.” The Banshee rubbed circles into her temples as Ellison paced by the radio. Witch had done his part keeping tensions and fear low among the rest of the Harbingers, but their chef and head of science and engineering had always been a nervous wreck under stress.

It had been difficult enough getting the rest of the gang calm and comfortable with Volos again, but Ellison’s frantic energy had been hell on the Super Mutants, who already were demanding blood for the loss of one of their brothers and were growing only more restless every day they were locked inside.

“It’s just-”

“Caldwell has not left it unsupervised. He has Doomed holding down the fort and finishing the basic construction.” She fixed him with a weary stare. “I need you to relax. Our less human Harbingers feed off your energy, and you are helping nothing.”

“Apologies, Banshee.” Ellison left her then, heading back to the common room from her office and bedroom. Left alone with her thoughts, Moira raked her nails across her scalp, fingers carding through her hair. This was a clusterfuck, and all she could do was try and keep their heads above the water.

In the distance, Moira could faintly hear the sound of knocking. With a long sigh, she lowered her feet from the armrest of her chair and stood, heading into the common room. Xian Jun and several other Harbingers answered the door together, their weapons drawn.

“Hey,” A collection of mismatched raiders stood on the other side, members of the Disciples and the Court of Murder, “The lockdown says you can’t leave… but it don’t say we can’t come.”

Moira and Witch caught one another’s eyes across the room, and they nodded in unison. The door was opened, and the Harbinger’s guards spread out to let their visitors enter. A few found their friends among the visitors immediately, and wasted no time in showing them the lay of the land.

Before the door closed, one more figure squeezed through, his eye scanning the room, “Is Witch around?”

“Hey.” Witch smiled softly to see Gage, making his way around the edge of the room to meet the Overboss’s second. “What’re you doing here?”

“ _Officially_ , making sure you guys haven’t gone apeshit and to let the Banshee know the next Inner Council meeting is in six hours. _Unofficially_ , making sure _you’re_ okay.” Gage responded, putting a hand on Witch’s shoulder, “You need anything?”

“A million caps,” Witch chuckled. “I think right now we just have to finish going through the shit to see the other side. But it’s good to see you. I missed you.”

“I knew you would,” Gage smirked before his features softened, “I missed you too.”

“How long do you have before Caldwell expects you back?” Witch took Gage’s hand in his, threading their fingers together.

“Funny thing,” Gage chuckled, “He’s giving me a whole two hours to check on you. Then I gotta get back to work.”

“Now is that _paid_ vacation?” Witch joked, beginning to pull Gage down the hall. He ignored the obvious stares of Moira and some of the other Harbingers.

“Considering all the shit I’ve done for him and have to put up with? Hell yeah it is.”

* * *

“State your business.”

“I’m here to see my uncle?” Scarlett scoffed.

“Overboss said she gets visitation…” One of the Doomed stationed outside Brownstone’s clinic leaned over to his comrade.

“Alright, head on in,” The first guard unlocked the front door, “Knock when you’re done.”

Scarlett entered the clinic, making her way to Brownstone’s office.

“Uncle Allison?”

There was no response. Scarlett knocked lightly on the office door.

“Uncle Allison, it’s Scarlett.”

After a few moments, the door clicked. Swallowing, Scarlett stepped into the room. Barely lit, the office was an absolute _disaster_ . Broken bottles, syringes, empty pill bottles, and empty tins of mentats lay everywhere. Most of the furniture had been utterly _destroyed_ , overturned and carved to ribbons. Only the couch and Brownstone’s terminal lay untouched.

And Brownstone, gaunt and pale, sat in a lounge chair in the corner, surrounded by empty bottles, jabbing a needle of Psycho into his arm. Scarlett stood, speechless and mouth agape, in the door, looking around at the devastation around her.

“Scarlett…” Brownstone hissed, his voice raw and raspy, “Come in. Sit down.”

“What did you _do_?” The Queen of Hearts asked, carefully picking her pathway around needles and shards of glass to reach the couch.

“It’s what _Kincaid_ did,” He rocked back and forth in his chair as he threw his empty Psycho syringe across the room, “Moira, Moira, _Moira…_ ruined my life.”

“U-Uncle Allison, she’s not the kind of person to just do that.” Scarlett tried to hold her confidence in her friend’s defense. “I’m sure-”

“That whore _collapsed my warehouse on top of me and burned my empire to the ground!_ ” Brownstone screeched, stomping across the trail of destruction to loom over Scarlett, “She made me this… this… _clown_ ! I used to be _god_ and now I’m a fucking _joke_!”

“You... told me Cousin Veronica-”

“Kincaid was _fucking_ Veronica and they colluded to get me out of the picture!” Brownstone snapped, cutting Scarlett off, “Veronica skimmed me, taking money and territory, Kincaid bumped me off… oh, she _tried_ , but she _failed_. And karma cut down Veronica… but Moira ain’t get her’s yet. Not yet…”

“If it was such a perfect plan then why is Moira a raider and not a chem lord?” Scarlett never liked to argue with her uncle, but the burning knot of indignation in her demanded it.

Brownstone paused. Unable to come up with an answer, instead he stumbled back over to his chair, shaking hands snatching a bottle of Bufftats. Pulling open the lip, he poured the contents into his mouth, chasing it down with a bottle of… something.

“Have you had any water, Uncle Allison?” Scarlett looked around the office for signs of water cans. “Food?”

“No. No.” Brownstone shook his head, grabbing a syringe of Psychotats and jabbing it into his arm, “I don’t need it. I need… I need…”

Suddenly, as the plunger compressed and the mixed drugs entered his system, Brownstone’s eyes brightened ever so slightly, “Scarlett… you love me, right? I’m your favourite uncle?”

“You’re my only Uncle,” Scarlett replied, suddenly wary. “But… of course I love you.”

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“What do you need?”

“Kill Moira for me.”

“What?” Scarlett felt like she’d been doused in ice. “N-No, I can’t- Moira’s my friend.”

“And _I’m_ your family!” Brownstone’s voice dropped an octave and twenty degrees in temperature, “Moira ruined my life, and I saved your’s. You owe me. I want Moira dead by the next Inner Council meeting.”

“But that’s in five hours. And- and the Overboss is keeping a close eye on all of us-”

“Did I fucking stutter?” Brownstone once again shot from his chair, throwing the nearby bottle of moonshine at the wall behind her, “Kill Kincaid!”

“Uncle Allison, if I do, the Overboss will skin me alive. If I’m _lucky_.” Scarlett wrapped her arms around herself, beginning to shake with fear and her own conflicting feelings.

“Do it.” Brownstone demanded. “If she walks into that meeting today, you won’t walk out.”

Scarlett stared in helpless horror, and could do nothing but nod, mute.

“Good.” Brownstone limped back to his chair, sinking into the cushioned seat, “Help yourself to whatever pick-me-ups you need to get the job done…”

Blinking back a rush of tears, Scarlett sorted through the mess of her Uncle’s office, finding a syringe of Psychojet, and tucking it into her dress.

“We’re all we’ve got, Scarlett,” Brownstone sighed from his seat, his head slowly tilting down as he began to nod off, “Family _always_ came first to the Thornes… family… comes…”

The rest of his sentence was lost as the chem lord began to snore softly. Scarlett stood with a hand over her mouth to hold back her shuddering breaths and quiet sobs. After a few more minutes, she regained her composure and left her Uncle to his sleep.

* * *

“Don’t say it.” Caldwell didn’t even look up from his desk when he heard the footfalls of his Super Mutant bodyguard as he lumbered into the room.

Goliath sniffed the air, “Even after two days, the room smells of the fair lady.”

“Hmph.” Caldwell rolled his eyes and scoffed as he continued to cross reference eyewitness accounts, testimonies, reports, and alibis.

“May I ask one question?” Goliath asked. Caldwell’s lack of response meant nothing, as the mutant continued, “You comforted her. She lay in your bed but you did not _lie_ with her. Why?”

Knowing that Goliath would only continue to pester him, the Overboss took a deep breath, “Because the ghost of James came to me, and reminded me that I’ve faced loss before too.”

“I see,” Goliath nodded, now satisfied enough to let the conversation lie.

“I need you to be present and on high alert for the next council meeting,” Caldwell returned to business, “Brownstone is in the midst of some kind of… meltdown, and wants the Banshee’s blood. I want you to keep an eye on him.”

“Mmhmm,” Goliath bowed his head slightly.

“And watch Mags and Mason… I have the sinking feeling that this latest incident was not masterminded by mere minions.”

* * *

“Or you could stay,” Witch protested for the dozenth time, leaving a trail of kisses across Gage’s collar.

“The meeting’s in a couple hours, and it’s setting up to be a powderkeg,” Gage sighed putting his hands on either side of Witch’s face, “I’ve gotta check in with the boss and get ready to host this thing.”

“Or-”

“Shhh…” Gage kissed the Harbinger on the forehead, “There’s always _after_ the meeting.”

“It’s gonna be a powderkeg, like you said,” Witch said, one hand resting on Gage’s cheek. “You _sure_ there’s going to be time after?”

“We’ll make time.”

“That a promise, Porter?” Witch smirked a bit.

Gage paused.

“Not anymore,” He attempted to deadpan, but couldn’t prevent a smile from tugging at his lips, “I told you, just… Gage.”

“Alright, I was just teasing.” Witch punctuated his words with a kiss.

“But I really have to go now,” Gage sighed, getting up from the bed and grabbing his yellowed metal armor mantle.

“Alright...” Witch sat up and watched him dress. “And to be clear, we _can’t_ kill anyone, or we _shouldn’t_ kill anyone?”

“ _Can’t_.” Gage turned and glared at him for a moment, “Listen, Caldwell is real pissed, and if anyone starts shit at this meeting… it’s gonna come down hard on them. So please do me a favor and keep things civil. Okay?””

“Okay, fine.” Witch crawled out of bed, smoothing out his hair and retrieving his pants. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Such a gentleman.” Gage rolled his eye as he scoffed.

“Next time I’ll even buy you dinner.” Witch winked, holding open the bedroom door and giving a deep, over the top bow. The pair of raiders headed back into the common room, Witch’s arms folded over his bare chest as they made it to the front door.

“I’ll see you later,” Gage nodded to Witch.

“Yeah, see you in a few hours.” Witch opened the door, just as Scarlett was raising her hand to knock on the outside.

“O-oh. Hey. Witch. And Gage.” She stammered, trying not to stare at the Harbinger’s bare chest, “Uhh… what’s up?”

“Just… getting ready for the meeting.” Witch’s arms folded again, and he stepped back. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing!” Scarlett answered, a little too quickly, “I… I was wondering if I could see M- the Banshee.”

“Yeah, she’s in her room. You know the way.” Witch nodded over his shoulder for her to enter.

“Thanks,” Scarlett nodded, “See you… Witch. Gage.”

“Don’t forget the meeting,” Gage pat the Queen of Hearts on the shoulder, “And don’t start shit.”

“Of… of course.” Scarlett’s eyes dropped to the floor as she slipped past the two men and made her way towards the Banshee’s office and bedroom. Stopping outside the door, Scarlett paused, a hand raised to knock, but unable to make herself complete the movement.

Could she _really_ kill Moira? Would Uncle Allison _really_ kill her if she didn’t? Did Moira _really_ plan to ruin his life? But that didn’t make sense… Whether to find answers or to carry out the assassination, Scarlett knocked on the door before her thoughts spiralled out of control.

“Come in.”

Scarlett opened the door to find Moira laying back on her bed, eyes closed as she listened to the radio on her windowsill.

_“Take these memories… that are haunting me… of a paper man cut into shreds by his own pair of scissors...”_

“Hi…” Scarlett waved shyly as she slipped through the door.

“Hello.” Moira didn’t move, one hand over her eyes.

“How are you holding up?” Scarlett asked, shuffling away from the door as she shut it behind her. Shoving her hands into her pockets, she found the syringe of Psychojet, and a switchblade… and began to shake.

“Mm. I failed them, but perhaps we needed the tragedy. It’s caused everyone to start taking all of this shit seriously. Which I’d expected them to do after Moth had her legs broken, but…”

“I’m sorry,” Scarlett frowned, her legs slowly carrying her towards the bed, “Can… I sit?”

“Of course.” Moira’s hand lowered and she turned her head towards Scarlett. “How are _you_ holding up? I know this incident with Brownstone is… delicate.”

“He…” Scarlett tried to blink tears away but started to sob as she all but fell onto the bed beside Moira, “Oh my God, Moira… you should have _seen_ him… he’s so pale and sick… he hasn’t eaten or drank water in two days… I don’t think he’s _slept_! He’s just been doing chems and drinking constantly! I’m… I’m so scared.”

Moira flinched as Scarlett began to cry, but sat up and pulled the Queen of Hearts into her arms, rubbing the younger raider’s back in circles. “We’ll solve everything at the meeting today.”

“Moira, he’s not himself,” The younger woman continued to weep, “He wants me to kill you! He said he’d… if I didn’t…”

The Banshee grew tense, recoiling slowly from Scarlett and getting off the bed to her feet. “I see.”

“I can’t though, I _can’t kill you_ ,” Scarlett grabbed Moira’s arm, “I _can’t_!”

Moira jerked her arm away, her other hand reaching towards the hunting knife on her belt. “If you don't, he’ll kill you. If you try, I will. You seem to be at an impasse.”

Reaching into her pockets again, Scarlett grabbed the switchblade and the syringe and threw them across the room, “I don’t want to have to make this choice! This shouldn’t be happening! Why is this happening?!”

“Because that bitch Veronica apparently won’t let me be, even from beyond the grave.” Moira drew her knife, spinning it. “So, what do you _want_ to do?”

“I want to have my Uncle back,” Scarlett curled into a ball, “I want things to go back to the way they were!”

“Then perhaps Caldwell is the one you should tell about this little errand.” Moira’s voice was detached, icy. Not at all the gentle tone that Scarlett had earned.

“I have to know,” Scarlett uncurled and sat on the edge of the bed, “What happened between you and Veronica?”

“She ruined me, and I killed her.”

“Uncle-” Scarlett stopped herself, “Brownstone said… that you teamed up to take his empire, that Veronica cheated and stole from him and you were in on it…”

“Veronica cheated all of us. I had nothing to do with their little feud, nor did I ever have qualms with Allison Thorne. I didn’t give a shit what happened to anyone but _her_. If she was fucking him over, then he was in the same boat I was.”

“I have one more question before I go,” Scarlett begged, “Do you hate me?”

“Of course I don’t.” Moira’s frozen tone thawed for a moment. “But you just admitted that you’ve been asked to kill me. Until this is resolved, you need to go.”

Tears falling down her face, leaving blackened streaks where her makeup ran, Scarlett nodded numbly, “I’m sorry.”

“Go.”

Slowly rising from the bed, Scarlett held herself as she shuffled out of the room, holding herself with her head hung low. As the door shut behind her, Moira took a deep breath and sheathed her knife once more. She waited for a good few minutes before heading out into the main room of her base.

“Xian Jun.”

The Harbinger’s door guard jumped in surprise, nearly topping their card house. “Yes, Banshee.”

“The Queen of Hearts is not welcome until I say otherwise.”

“Y-yes, Banshee.” Xian Jun quirked their head, glancing towards the door where Scarlett had just departed. With a pleased nod, the Banshee retired back to her room.

She had two hours to prepare for this meeting, and something told her she couldn’t waste a single moment.

* * *

_“Those voices yelling, and the pain is overwhelming, it's a fault line… And yeah, I'm guessing that I should be kind of happy, it's a fault of mine…”_

With his Pip-Boy providing ambience, Caldwell watched as Harvey pulled together the meeting area. A few collared workers struggled to haul one of the Gun Runner crates into the room, one of them dropping their end.

“Hey!” Harvey turned and shouted, “Don’t drop that! That’s expensive stuff! You want the boss to pull your head off?!”

“N-n-no?”

“Then pick up that box and don’t drop it again!” He snapped. The workers took a moment to ready themselves and lifted the heavy crate back up, shuffling towards the meeting area. As the room started to come together, the door burst open, and Caldwell was suddenly enveloped in a tight embrace.

“Wha-” Blinking for a moment, Caldwell looked down to see Scarlett sobbing into his chest.

“That’ll be all for now Harvey,” The Overboss dismissed his assistant and the slaves, who quickly shuffled out of the room. Once they were alone, Caldwell gently stroked Scarlett’s hair, “What happened?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it. I _didn’t_ , I swear,” Scarlett hiccuped, her voice muffled in the front of his coat.

“Scarlett, take a deep breath. Breathe…” Caldwell put his hands on the Queen of Hearts’ cheeks and looked into her eyes, “Breathe.”

“Uncle Allison,” Scarlett tried to breathe deeply, but every inhale stuttered. “He- He-”

“Scarlett. Stop. Breathe.” The Overboss ordered.

“Okay. Okay.” She took a few breaths until she stopped shaking so profoundly.

“Now… tell me what’s wrong.”

“Brownstone... asked me to kill Moira.”

Caldwell blinked once behind his sunglasses, “I’m sorry?”

“I went to see him, and he’s- he’s a _wreck._ But he… asked me to kill her, to get revenge for him. He said if she lives to be at the meeting… I won’t.”

Caldwell sucked a deep breath in through his nostrils, “I see.”

“I went to see her,” Scarlett continued, “I… I was going to do it, maybe… but I didn’t. I couldn’t.”

“Good,” The Overboss nodded, kissing her forehead, “I’m glad you came to me. Now this… _situation_ can be dealt with.”

“I didn’t lay a finger on her, I swear,” Scarlett stammered immediately, a jolt of fear rushing through her.

“I know…” Caldwell sighed, “But the Banshee and Brownstone are too important to this operation for this to escalate. Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Scarlett replied warily, after a moment’s hesitation.

“Then listen close,” Caldwell stepped away from Scarlett and began to pace, “You will _not_ attend this meeting. The Doomed will escort you to a safehouse where you will hide and wait for the meeting’s end. After the meeting, I will apprehend Brownstone and Moira, bring them together, and chain them. They will resolve this feud through words, or they will die. You are the link between them, and your insight may help.”

“My insight?” Scarlett’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“You have heard two sides of the story, have you not?” Caldwell asked, “Surely there is some form of a… common ground between them, or the root of the miscommunication.”

“Veronica…” Scarlett gasped.

“Yes.” Caldwell smirked, striding to his radio set, flicking a number of switches, “Mephistopheles to the Nine Hells, I repeat, Mephistopheles to the Nine Hells.”

After a moment, a female voice replied, “This is Faust, we hear you Mephistopheles.”

“Send two unoccupied Doomed to the Fizztop Grille immediately. I have an assignment for them ahead of today’s meeting.”

“They’re on their way. Faust out.”

* * *

Sitting at the head of the table, a cigar between his teeth, Caldwell watched as one by one, the members of the inner circle assembled. Beside him, Goliath smoked a cigar in similar fashion, his dark red eyes locked on Brownstone as he lurched towards his usual seat. On the other side, Gage searched the crowd for any signs of Witch and the other Harbingers.

But his search was in vain. As the leaders of the various gangs took their seats, the Harbingers and Court of Murder remained unrepresented.

“Where are the rest of them?” Nisha asked, looking to the two empty seats at her right, “The Banshee and the Queen of Hearts?”

“If they’re not here in ten minutes, we’re allowed to leave.” Brownstone glanced around the room.

“ _No_.” Caldwell sighed, “We will continue this meeting with or without them.”

At that moment, the lift rattled, rising to reveal the Banshee, flanked by Witch, Ellison, Sinead, and Luka. The white haired raider queen held her head high as she moved to the table and took her usual chair beside Nisha. Brownstone, whose expression was somewhere in the realm of anxious anticipation, soured into hatred.

“Fashionably late?” Mags scoffed at Moira.

Moira merely smirked back, as Witch took Scarlett’s usual chair.

“Now. To business.” Caldwell blew a plume of smoke across the table, “You lot have been like a stubborn Brahmin… and any animal owner will tell you that a stubborn Brahmin will move _towards_ the _carrot_ because it wants the reward of food, and _away_ from the _stick_ because it wants to avoid the punishment of pain.

“Lately, I’ve been all stick, and no carrot.” Caldwell sighed, “And so I consider it time to grant a few… rewards.”

Everyone around the table shifted, leaning forward and staring intently and excitedly at the Overboss.

“The Disciples, the Rust Devils, and the Court of Murder have all cooperated wonderfully with the investigation, and have not been involved in any of the recent incidents. As such, they shall reap the first rewards.” Caldwell nodded over to Gage, who picked up a medium sized chest, passing it off to Ivey.

“What’s this?” The Rust Devil raised an eyebrow.

“Schematics, courtesy of the Gun Runners,” Caldwell answered, “Weapons, power armor modifications, vehicles, robots… all within that box. They are yours now.”

The woman looked like a child on Christmas as she set the box down and looked over the topmost blueprint. The other gang leaders began to shift eagerly, eyes darting to Gage and Caldwell like vultures. Moira, for her part, leaned _back_ in her seat, kicking her feet onto the table.

“The Court of Murder… are not present, and will be dealt with later,” Caldwell continued, gesturing to Goliath to retrieve the largest crate, “However… for the Disciples… new toys.”

Though her face was hidden by the metallic mask, it was obvious that Nisha had raised an eyebrow. Savoy stalked over, opening the chest. “Nisha… you’re not gonna believe this.”

Dixie and Nisha moved from the table, looking down into the opened crate at a number of Rippers and chainsaws, sadistic smiles on their faces.

“Enjoy.” Caldwell grinned as Dixie immediately grabbed two Rippers, giggling manically as she revved them.

William and Mason now leaned in, expectant. Moira smirked, and as Witch also began to look curious, pulled him back in his chair with a slight shake of her head.

“But back to the stick…” Caldwell’s gaze settled over Mags and Mason, “It appears that my previous punishments have not been enough to dissuade you from turning on each other. No longer shall I show restraint. Whoever I find guilty of this latest incident will _suffer_.”

Now Moira’s smirk fell, and the Harbingers scanned the other faces at the table, each of them glowering at the other gangs in turn. Witch, in particular, seemed to be searching for any reactions. His gaze caught on William, and he quirked his head slowly.

“Do… you have any leads?” William asked, a subtle shake in his hand as he lit a cigarette and pulled it to his lips.

“I know that _certain parties_ were definitely involved, though the _depth_ of such has yet to be determined,” Caldwell answered, his cigar lighting up as he inhaled, gaze locked on the male Black.

Ellison’s gaze now also ventured to William, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Luka and Sinead continued, as they had since entering, to watch Brownstone cautiously.

“Good… I hope we can resolve this quickly.” Mags leaned back in her chair, “This…   _unpleasantness_ has not done favors for morale.”

“You’re one to talk,” Witch scoffed, a bit louder than he meant to. Mags slowly turned to meet the Harbinger’s eyes.

“I’m sorry?” She asked incredulously, “Did the little bird say something? You really ought to clip his wings and let the grownups do the talking at the table.”

“Watch it, Mags,” Gage said warningly, glaring at her.

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ Gage, I’ll defer to _you_ the next time I reference your boy-toy.”

In a flash, Witch had drawn a knife and stabbed it into the table, rising to his feet.

“Two of our people are dead!” The Harbinger’s second snapped. “I have no patience for your jokes right now.”

“The real joke is in your mirror.” Mags rolled her eyes.

“Mags-”

“The _real_ joke is that they call their fucking mutants ‘people,’” Mason sneered.

“Treating them like they’re more than beasts is what gets them to behave!” Ellison spoke up now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Sensing the tension bubble and boil, members of the Doomed reached for stun batons.

“I’m sorry, which of us has regularly tamed animals?” Mason raised an eyebrow.

“ _You_ sure _smell_ like one,” Nisha frowned.

“Stay out of this, Nisha,” Mags turned around in her chair to glare over at the Disciple, “This doesn’t involve you.”

“Jumping to Mason’s defense? Intriguing…” Nisha hummed, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Well, she’s probably carrying his pups by now. Aren’t you, Mags?” Moira finally broke her silence, grinning cruelly across the table at the Operator. Mags turned back at Moira, a cold rage in her eyes.

“ _What_ did you just say to me?!”

“You heard me, bitch.”

In a moment, Mags was on her feet, a western-style revolver with a pearl grip in her hands and aimed at Moira, “Say it _again_ , I fucking _dare_ you, whore!”

“I said ‘Aren’t you, Mags,’” Moira repeated, grabbing the hilt of the knife that Witch had left in the table and rising to her feet.

“Hey! Put your weapons-” Gage’s protests were silenced when Dixie grabbed a larger chainsaw, revving it loudly.

“Oh, are we fighting now? I can’t _wait_ to try this out!”

“Put that away before you hurt yourself,” Ivey snapped.

“Or maybe I’ll hurt _you_ with it!” Dixie turned to the woman in power armor.

“I’d like to see you try,” Ivey chuckled, drawing a yellow rifle that sparked with electricity.

“Get your bitch under control, Mason,” Witch interjected, jerking his head towards Mags.

“Hey! You don’t talk about Mags like that!” William drew an assault rifle and aimed it at Witch. Ellison drew a pipe revolver and leveled it at the Operator in response.

“ _My_ bitch? You should worry more about your’s,” Mason raised a three-barreled shotgun, aiming it between Moira and Witch.

“Are we gonna _party_ ?” Brownstone asked, drawing a pair of knives, “ _Let’s fuckin’ party_!”

“Sit down, Allison,” Sinead snapped, drawing a pistol and aiming it at the chem cook, Luka mirroring the action.

“ENOUGH!!” Caldwell bellowed, “SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND STOW YOUR WEAPONS OR THE LOT OF YOU WILL RUN THE GAUNTLET!”

There was a long, pregnant moment where no one breathed. The raiders looked down the barrels of their guns, and the ones aimed at them. Finally, Dixie’s chainsaw puttered out, and Ivey was the first to lower her gun. Sinead holstered hers next, followed by Mason, then Ellison, William, Brownstone, Luka, and finally Mags. Moira was the last to sink back into her chair, releasing the knife, but leaving it embedded in the wood.

“Good.” Caldwell sighed, taking one final drag from his cigar before tossing it across the table.

As the tension began to ebb, but before the meeting could continue, Mason looked across the table and locked eyes with the Banshee.

“Just for the record,” he smirked, “The only good super mutant is a dead super mutant, and I feel a lot better with one less _hanging_ around."

In a flash, Moira had shot back to her feet, and was already halfway across the table by the time it registered that she had moved. Lunging forward with a scream, she tackled Mason back out of his chair, her hands wrapped tightly around his throat as she slammed his head into the ground.

The rest of the room immediately descended into chaos. Members of the Doomed rushed forward with their stun batons, pushing and pulling the others away from the fight, though there were too few to properly contain the brawl. Unseen by the Doomed, Brownstone slipped away from the table backing around the perimeter of the room as he veered away from Goliath, waiting, watching.

Mason threw a few wild punches and elbows at the Banshee, one of which connected with her jaw, and threw her off of him and onto the floor. Reversing their prior position, Mason slammed his fists down onto Moira’s face, growling like an animal. She kept her head turned to one side, his blows collecting on her right cheek. One cracked into her mouth, and she felt her lip split open against her teeth.

Taking advantage of an upswing, Moira suddenly lunged forward, her forehead connecting with Mason’s nose, and she could hear and feel it snap. Mason let out a howl of pain as blood began to pour down his face.

Witch leapt to his feet, rushing around the table and grabbing the knife from the wooden surface as he did, intent on coming to Moira’s aid. However, a hand reached out and caught his arm, pulling him into a submission hold.

“No,” Gage growled into his ear, “Do _not_ get involved.”

As Mason reeled back from the strike, Moira’s sharp nails dug into his neck and face, clawing and tearing at his flesh. Recovering, the Alpha threw a few punches into her side until he heard something snap, and she also cried out in pain, her breath catching as she realised he’d broken a rib.

Finally, Brownstone’s beady eyes lit up as he saw his opportunity. Scrambling like a wild monkey, the chem cook pushed around the Harbingers and slid underneath the table, jabbing his knife into Moira’s side.

The Banshee released another scream, turning to see Brownstone and aiming a kick for his face, or throat, or whatever she could reach. The drug lord gladly took the hit to his jaw, scurrying back under the table where he could not be easily reached.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Mason aimed a headbutt of his own, but Moira dodged, using his momentum against him and wrestling the Alpha to the ground, her teeth coming down and ripping into the soft cartilage of his ear. Her arms pinned his upper body while she ground her fangs, trying to ignore the sharp pains of her broken rib and the hot blood soaking her clothes.

Brownstone once again scampered from the table, knives raised and ready to kill, but the heavy hand of Goliath caught him by the arm, yanking him up hard enough for the arm to pop. Letting out a manic giggle, Brownstone drove his free hand’s blade into Goliath’s collar, causing the mutant to cry out in pain and drop him.

“When you see Veronica in hell, tell her I said-” Brownstone’s threat was cut off when Caldwell, pushing past the sea of bodies, grabbed the scrawnier man by the neck, lifting him into the air and slamming him onto the table. Brownstone let out a long hiss as the air escaped his lungs.

“You-” Brownstone attempted to get up, but the rest of the chem cook’s sentence was lost when Caldwell’s fist connected with his face. His head shot back, slamming into the table, and the junkie went limp.

Writhing under the Banshee as she continued to try and tear at his ear, Mason was able to grab the knife from her belt, and aimed it for her gut. He had cut beasts open before this way, their innards spilling out all at once. And it would be all too easy to do the same to the Banshee now.

The Alpha cut forward, but his knife found empty air as Goliath saw the glint of steel and lunged, grabbing Moira and pulling her out of the way and into his arms. The force of the mutant hoisting her into the air was just enough for Mason’s mangled ear to rip from the side of his head, spraying the three of them in blood as it came away between Moira’s teeth.

With the combatants pacified and separated, Caldwell stood over Mason, glaring down at him, “‘The only good super mutant is a dead super mutant, and I feel a lot better with one less _hanging_ around.’ That sounds like an admission of guilt to me."

Mason got to his knees, clutching the side of his head as blood poured from both where his ear had been, and his broken nose. With his other hand, he pointed the knife towards the Operators.

“Mags,” the Alpha rasped. “It was Mags’ idea.”

“Liar!” Mags snarled, jolting forward, only for a pair of the Doomed to catch her arms.

“ _Normally_ I would consider this a vain attempt to cast blame…” Caldwell slowly removed his sunglasses, cold steel eyes locking onto Mags’ face, “However, given the evidence uncovered in this investigation…”

“Overboss… Caldwell, please,” Mags pleaded, “You can’t _possibly_ think-”

As Caldwell stalked over, the Doomed held the Operator upright and her head still. In a moment, Caldwell had drawn a dagger, holding the edge against the corner of her mouth, “Oh. But I _do_ possibly think. And you’re going to tell us all the truth, or I’m going to carve your pretty little face until you make _Brownstone_ look like _Aphrodite_.”

After a tense beat William finally spoke up. “Mason’s telling the truth. It was _our_ idea.”

Caldwell slowly pulled the blade away from Mags and scoffed at William, “‘Our idea,’ he says. _Please_. You couldn’t come up with water if you fell in a lake.”

“Overboss,” Goliath interrupted, “The fair lady bleeds.”

Caldwell took a deep breath, “Send her to MacKenzie. I will deal with her part in this brawl soon.”

With that Goliath lumbered from the room, carrying Moira with him. She’d turned even paler than usual, and didn’t protest, both hands clutching the stab wound as it began to drip onto the floor.

Witch struggled against Gage again, looking after her fearfully. Gage maintained his grip, afraid of what Witch would do if he let him go… or what Caldwell would do. With the one-eyed raider unrelenting, Witch snapped his fingers twice, and the other three Harbingers rushed out after Goliath.

“William, you shall bear a punishment… lesser than your sister, for your honesty.” Caldwell pat the Operator twice on the cheek.

“No, I’ll take it all, please-” The hand that pat his cheek swung back and slapped him across the face.

“Mags and Mason, I have officially run out of patience and mercy,” Caldwell slowly turned to them, “I hereby sentence the two of you to run the Gauntlet.”

“No!” William pleaded, “No, send me! Please!”

Caldwell silenced the Operator with a boot to the teeth, “You will be imprisoned until sunrise tomorrow. Whatever supplies you carry with you are all you’ll take when you enter. And _if_ you survive… I just might let you live to enjoy it.”

“Can I get a goddamn Stimpack?” Mason asked, pulling his hand away and showing off the mess on the side of his head.

“Miasma.” Caldwell called over to a member of the Doomed, who roughly grabbed Mason by the hair.

“Hold still,” She hissed as she jammed a Stimpack near where his ear had been. Once the first had been administered, a second one was jabbed into his neck. “Better?”

Mason grunted a response as his wounds began to close.

“And if _any of you_ decide you want to test me again… there’ll be a bigger, _meaner_ stick than the Gauntlet for the _next time_ someone disturbs the peace.” Caldwell stared at the assembled raiders, “Take Mason and Mags to their cells, Brownstone to the Fifth Circle, and William… to the _workshop_. The rest of you are dismissed.”

* * *

“It’s just a stab wound. You already stitched me up. I can walk it off,” Moira argued, still refusing to take one of the beds.

“A stab wound, a broken rib, and a black eye, split lip, possibly a cracked jaw.” MacKenzie crossed her arms as Goliath picked the Banshee up and placed her on a bed, “At _least_ lie down for a couple hours so we can give you some Stimpacks and a little Med-X for the pain.”

“I don’t need to lie down,” Moira continued to protest. “I can take a Stim and some Med-X and walk out of here. I’m fine.”

“You stay,” Goliath ordered, crossing his arms as MacKenzie prepared a syringe of Med-X.

“ _You_ stay,” Moira muttered, a little childishly.

“I am, so are you,” Goliath responded, keeping Moira’s attention as the doctor snuck around the bed.

“I have things to clean up at home.” Moira frowned. “You saw how livid Ellison was.”

“Poke her.” Goliath nodded to MacKenzie. There was a sting in Moira’s shoulder, the Banshee hissing as the Med-X was injected into her system. After a few seconds, the numbness set in, and Moira swooned a little.

“Now rest.” The Super Mutant demanded, sitting on a stack of crates as the doctor injected the first stimpack into Moira’s side.

“Fine,” the Banshee relented, laying back against the bed and wincing at the dull ache in either side of her body.

* * *

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Caldwell smirked at William, who hung from his feet. Much like the manner he’d tormented Cato Hostilius, Caldwell set William Black to dangle from a chain, treating the man as a punching bag or piñata.

“Y-yes Overboss…” William sobbed as he sway gently back and forth, still rocked by the final blow delivered by Caldwell’s newest toy, a rocket-propelled baseball bat.

“Turn him loose and put him in MacKenzie’s care… on his own tab,” Caldwell ordered the Doomed who stood on guard, “I have somewhere to be.”

“Yes, Overboss.” The raiders saluted, gently lowering the Operator down as Caldwell exited the workshop and passed through his home and office. As he neared the lift, Gage fell into step beside him.

“How is she?”

“Healing,” Gage responded, “Couple Stimpacks and couple hours of rest really helped turn things around, but she’s still in pretty rough shape. Are you sure you wanna put her and Brownstone in the same room together?”

“Goliath will be present,” Caldwell turned over to Gage, “So yes, I am sure. This will be put to rest before it turns into… this.”

“Whatever you say, Boss,” Gage sighed.

“Take the night off, Gage.” Caldwell pat his second on the back, leaving the one-eyed man dumbfounded as he stalked towards the Marketplace.

* * *

“Oh! Overboss!” MacKenzie stammered as Caldwell pushed past a few traders to reach her counter, “I-”

“How is the Banshee?” He asked, cutting the doctor off.

“She lives,” Goliath answered, still sitting watch next to where Moira lay. She’d been speaking in a low tone with Witch as he occupied the side of her bed, examining her bruises with an odd expression on his face, but both Harbingers stopped speaking and turned to look in Caldwell’s direction.

“Witch,” Caldwell greeted.

“Caldwell,” the second replied.

“I gave Gage the night off,” The Overboss continued.

“Good. He’s earned it,” Witch replied, giving no indication of leaving.

“You should go see him.”

Witch was about to protest, when Moira set a hand on his arm and nodded.

“Yeah… I’ll do that.” Witch got to his feet slowly, reluctant to leave Moira’s side. As he walked past Caldwell, his elbow bumped the Overboss, a little too forcefully to be an accident. Caldwell, giving no indication he cared, took the seat the Harbinger had occupied.

“How are you holding up?”

“It was a fight I began. I’m surprised you bothered to ask.” Moira shifted in the bed, reaching for a syringe of Med-X that MacKenzie had left in reach should she need it.

“Officially, there will be consequences.” Caldwell grabbed the syringe before Moira could, gently taking her hand, “ _Unofficially…_ on the other hand… I would have done the same. I _have_ , in fact.”

Moira looked down at their hands, blinking in confusion. She wasn’t sure if it was the Med-X in her system, but this affection, here, in the marketplace felt... odd. “I’ll live.”

Suddenly the affection made sense as Caldwell plunged the needle into her arm, “You’ll have to. We have an appointment to keep.”

“I’m in no mood to fuck you,” Moira replied, words slurring just a touch as another numbing rush hit her system.

“No.” Caldwell sighed, his gaze flickering over to Goliath for a moment, who leaned in and listened intently, “No, this situation with Brownstone has to be resolved. Today.”

“Cut off his hands. Then he can’t stab anyone.”

“We are gonna give you another Stimpack,” Caldwell opened a nearby medical kit, “And then Goliath and I will take you to a safehouse where Brownstone is chained up, just waiting for this conversation to happen. And the two of you are going to talk this out like the civilized people we never were.”

* * *

“This way.” A member of the Doomed led Caldwell and Goliath, who steadied Moira as she walked between them, through the employee tunnels beneath Nuka World. After about two more minutes, they reached a door. Caldwell stepped forward, knocking five times. A moment later, the door opened.

“We’re ready.”

“Good,” Caldwell nodded to the Doomed on the other side of the door, gesturing for Moira to follow him. The Banshee kept pace with Caldwell, her hands folded behind her back.

“You’ll be tied as well, so that neither of you can enact violence upon the other,” Caldwell walked Moira through an employee dressing room, “But Goliath and I will be with you… should either of you break free. And you will not leave this place until the matter is settled. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“Good,” Caldwell nodded as a Doomed approached, carting a wheelchair to them, “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely not,” Moira answered with a smirk.

“Fair enough,” Caldwell conceded, “But I’m asking you to for now.”

“Please take a seat, Banshee.” The Doomed pat the handle of the wheelchair twice. Moira settled into the chair, getting as comfortable as possible. Once she was seated, the Doomed handcuffed her hands to the arms of the chair.

“Alright, here we go,” The Doomed took a deep breath before they pushed the wheelchair down a short hallway and into an old interrogation room. Inside, Brownstone already sat in a chair, rows of chain binding him in place.

“And there she is…” The chemist hissed as Moira was wheeled into place, “The Banshee. Moira Kincaid.”

“Allison,” Moira greeted coolly.

“You’re disappointingly alive. What a shame.”

“Scarlett didn’t quite finish the job. Neither did you. Failure must run in the family.”

“Damn these chains, I will bite out your-”

“Uncle Allison, that’s enough.”

Scarlett pushed past Caldwell and his Doomed to stand in the middle of the room, opposite Goliath. At the sight of her, Brownstone’s eyes betrayed a flicker of relief before being consumed by anger.

“You coward… you…”

“I said, _that’s enough_!” Scarlett snapped, “We are going to figure out exactly what happened with cousin Veronica, and with you and Moira.”

“I _told_ you what happened,” Brownstone hissed like a feral cat, “Moira an’ Veronica, sittin’ in a tree, F-U-C-K-I-N-G.”

“Until she ruined me,” Moira snapped. “Destroyed my reputation and forced me to keep working under her like a slave.”

“You collaborated!” The junkie screamed, “The two of you ransacked my storehouses and slaughtered my guards! You were trying to take me out of the picture!”

“You were never even on my radar,” the Banshee scoffed. “I wanted to expand westward. I wanted a new territory. I never wanted what you and Veronica built. I wanted something of my own, and she took it from me. She destroyed everything Witch and I worked for, and I wanted her to burn.”

“And you burned me! Not _her_ , you burned _me_!”

“Stop!” Scarlett shouted, her voice echoing around the room, “Don’t you see what happened? Cousin Veronica used Moira to attack you, Uncle Allison! And when Veronica betrayed her, she set you up so that Moira would attack _your_ warehouses not _her’s_!”

“She talked about wanting you dead,” Moira recalled. “Said you were the only one she thought could dethrone her.”

“She talked about using you,” Brownstone murmured, “How easy you were to leash, how you’d do anything she told you…”

“We all do stupid shit when we think we’re in love.”

“Family comes first to the Thornes… or it was _supposed_ to.”

“Veronica came first to Veronica,” Moira sighed, leaning back in her wheelchair. “I thought moving out of her territory would give me a chance to build my own empire. Then she stole my clients, told them I was a fucking con, and expanded. If I wanted work, it had to be for her.”

“I found out she’d been cutting caps out of her books,” Brownstone leaned as far forward as the chains allowed, “Skimming profits into her own pockets… I called a meeting… I confronted her… Luka and some of her guards, they didn’t come in to work that day…”

“I bought off a few of her people.” Moira nodded. “Sinead was a new enough hire that Veronica didn’t suspect the girl had already learned all the in’s and out’s. And Luka was tired of the way they were treated. They did insist we left you out of it, though. And we tried, even if you don’t believe it. You weren’t supposed to be there.”

“Why didn’t I realize sooner…” The chem cook hung his head, “Scarlett… oh my God, my girl… I… I would’ve _killed_ you… please forgive me.”

“Maybe… stay away from the chems for awhile, okay?” Scarlett asked, putting a hand on her uncle’s bald head, “You hurt me, Uncle Allison… you hurt me bad. I can’t forgive you yet. You have to… what’s the word?”

“Atone,” Caldwell supplied from the corner.

“Yeah. That.”

“Whatever you say, Scarlett,” Brownstone squeezed his eyes shut, “No chems.”

“Locksley, release them.” Caldwell nodded to the Doomed who accompanied them. They hurried over to Moira first, releasing her from the handcuffs before scurrying over to Brownstone, unbinding him as Scarlett gently stroked his head.

Moira got to her feet, rubbing her wrists as she looked over to Caldwell and Goliath. “Satisfied?”

“Yes. Aren’t you?” Caldwell asked, leading her out of the room.

“If it keeps them from putting knives in me, then yes.” Moira shrugged.

“Scarlett was never going to put a knife in you,” Caldwell rolled his eyes, “She cares for you too much.”

“Did you listen to a word that was said back there?”

“Every word.”

“Then you’ll forgive me for not trusting those who claim to care about me.”

“Fair lady needs to break walls down, let people in,” Goliath commented as he walked behind the pair.

“Ha! The ‘fair lady’ needs to be careful not to let in the wrong people,” Moira countered. “She’s very good at doing that.”

“Too good. So good, it bad,” Goliath retorted.

“I’ve only stayed alive this long by being careful, and by not surrounding myself with those who would stab me in the back or fail me.”

Before Goliath could continue the argument, Caldwell snapped his fingers, “Goliath, make sure that Brownstone and Scarlett are returned to Kiddie Kingdom, and send Junkhead to take over the clinic for the time being.”

“As you say.” Goliath bowed, turning back.

“He’s impertinent,” Moira remarked as Goliath left them.

“Mmhmm.” Caldwell hummed in agreement as they stepped back into the employee tunnels.

“So, you have a piece of my sob story and I have a piece of yours. I suppose we’re even again.”

“I suppose so.”

After another minute of silent travel, Moira sighed. “So, what’s my punishment then?”

Caldwell answered after a beat, “I don’t know. I have to consider it further.”

“Great. Anticipation.” Moira rolled her eyes.

“I thought you _liked_ to build the anticipation?” Caldwell smirked as they approached an exit to the surface.

“When there’s something to look forward to,” Moira replied, sighing heavily as they ascended the stairwell. “But if there’s no hell to pay now, I’m going home. Ellison is frothing, and if Witch is off with Gage…”

“It sounds like you could use a distraction and relief from this stress,” Caldwell hand found its way around Moira’s shoulder, “And… I find myself in need of the same.”

“What are you suggesting?”

“Distraction for distraction…” Caldwell’s hand trailed gently down her back, “Pleasure for pleasure.”

Moira faced him, showing off the full extent of bruises that mottled half of her features, her clothes still soaked and stuck to her skin with her own blood. “Seriously?”

“I could bathe you first if you like,” Caldwell chuckled, his hand stopping at the Banshee’s hip.

“As long as you don’t expect me to be particularly dextrous, sure. I could use the relief.”

“I can be gentle.”

“Somehow, I still find that hard to believe.”

* * *

_“Along… the path… we lost our way… It's all… a game… that I must play, And now the weak that fall… Return to ash, defeated after all…”_

Moira let out another pleasured sigh, hooking a second leg around Caldwell’s hips as he continued fucking her at the slow, measured pace he’d set. She’d been pleasantly surprised at how careful with her he was, though maybe it was the shot of Med-X she’d taken that really kept her damaged body from protesting.

“Good?” Caldwell asked, his lips at her ear.

“Yes,” Moira replied, letting her eyes close as she savored the gentle waves of pleasure he brought her.

“Good,” He kissed her bruised cheek softly, “I _told_ you I could be gentle.”

“Mmm. I’ll admit that you were right,” Moira breathed, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard that correctly,” Caldwell grinned, pressing his forehead against Moira’s, “You _admit_ that _I was right_?”

“Yes, and so was Witch.” Moira leaned up, murmuring against his lips. “You talk too much.”

With that, she sealed their mouths in a kiss, one hand resting against the back of his head to hold his mouth to hers. Her lip stung as the fresh cut was irritated, but she ignored the pain. Caldwell quickened the pace of his thrusts ever so slightly, one hand finding a breast, the other finding her clit.

Moira’s breathing stuttered and a soft moan escaped her lips, as she kissed Caldwell with more hunger.

“Good?” Caldwell asked again in the brief window their lips parted.

“Yeah.” She nodded slightly, hips rocking into his touch and his thrusts. “Yes, keep- keep doing that.”

“You mean this?” The Overboss flicked a thumb over the Banshee’s clit, eliciting another gasp.

“Yes, that,” Moira confirmed, trailing her lips down his neck and mixing soft bites in between her kisses.

“Mmm… that’s nice… Let me return the favor,” Caldwell hummed, the hand on her breast moving to pull her hair, revealing her neck. He then spread his own mixture of kisses and soft bites around the Banshee’s jawline, collar, neck, and shoulders.

Moira let out another moan, matching his thrusts more insistently. “Fuck... James, I’m... starting to get close.”

“Good,” Caldwell’s lips met hers as he thrusted a little faster, but none harder, “Then come for me, Moira.”

It took only a few more moments before was rewarded with a cry of ecstasy from the Banshee, her climax crashing over her and her legs tightening around him, holding the Overboss close as she rode out her pleasure.

“Moira-” Caldwell attempted to warn her, to pull himself out, but the Banshee’s grip was too tight, the Overboss letting out a strangled gasp as his orgasm came to him. Moira tensed beneath him as she felt him finish within her, her breath catching in her throat.

“Sorry,” Caldwell sighed, running his hand over his head, “You… locked up there, didn’t let me out.”

“It’s... fine,” Moira replied slowly, her legs unwinding from around his waist.

“Hmm.” The Overboss pulled away, moving to sit on the edge of the bed, “Would you like a drink?”

“That sounds good.” The Banshee sat herself up slowly.

Caldwell rose, walking over to his bar, “My alcohol stores are kept in… _low supply_ these days, but I still have some selections if you want something other than a cola.”

“Maybe a Nuka Cola and some bourbon?”

“I can do that.” Caldwell pulled a pair of bottles and a glass from below, “Just regular Nuka Cola, or…?”

“Yes. It’s best with the classic.”

“Mmhmm,” He nodded, pouring out the bourbon first, then the cola into the glass. After another moment, he returned with her drink and a bottle of Quartz for himself, “Here you are, dear.”

“Much obliged.” Moira tapped her glass to his bottle and took a long drink.

After a few moments, the pair sitting and drinking in comfortable, naked silence, Caldwell coughed into his fist.

“I’d like you to stay tonight.”

“Would you?” She smirked.

“Well, you’re not in much condition to walk home, are you?” Caldwell asked, “You could barely get upright to sit.”

“I’m just sore,” Moira replied with a shrug. “I haven’t heard from Witch, and I don’t know how Sinead and Ellison are holding up, or Luka. _Especially_ Luka.”

“Alright. Stand up right now then,” Caldwell challenged her, “If you can get dressed and make it to the lift, I’ll have you escorted the rest of the way.”

“My clothes are covered in blood,” Moira argued, taking another drink of her mixer.

“Oh no, it’s the end of the world,” The Overboss rolled his eyes.

“Fine. You find me my shirt after _you_ threw it God knows where, and I’ll get dressed.”

Rolling his eyes, Caldwell got up. Disappearing around the corner, barely five seconds passed before the bloodied and torn shirt landed on the floor beside the bed. Moira drummed her fingers against her glass, before setting it aside and leaning over to grab her shirt. As she did, a stab of agony jolted from her freshly set rib, and she gasped, sitting back up straight.

“For God’s sake, just lie back down,” The Overboss got back into bed, “You can tend your flock in the morning.”

“Fine.” Moira grabbed her drink again and settled against the pillows, one hand on her side.

“Hold still a moment,” Caldwell grabbed a medical kit from behind the headboard, pulling out a single Stimpack. Suddenly, he jabbed the needle into the Banshee’s pained side.

“Son of- warn me before you do that,” Moira snapped.

“I _did_.” Caldwell responded coolly, putting the kit back to its hiding place.

“I mean that you’re going to stab me. I’ve had more than enough of that.”

“Of course,” The Overboss rolled his eyes and kissed Moira’s forehead. After a moment of silence in which Moira made herself as comfortable as possible, she glanced towards Caldwell.

“That wicked brain of yours decide my punishment yet?”

“Maybe,” Caldwell settled under the sheets, “But why ruin a moment and tell you _now_?”

“So I won’t be awake all night wondering what it is?”

There was a beat before Caldwell answered, “I have an idea… but nothing set in stone.”

“Keeping in mind that Mason deserved what happened, I hope.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll try and be patient then,” Moira sighed, finishing her drink and settling down into the bed.

“Get some rest, Moira,” Caldwell wrapped an arm around the woman in his bed, “You need it.”

Again, that voice in the back of her head told her it was a terrible idea to let down her guard with the Overboss, but she was exhausted, and despite her own lack of trust, Caldwell had given her no reason to fear him when they were alone. Curling closer, the Banshee rested her forehead against his chest, and soon let herself drift off to a well-deserved sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song playing while Moira was lying in her room was "Forever" by Papa Roach. The song playing while Caldwell was preparing for the meeting was "Betray And Degrade" by Seether. The song playing during the Caldwell / Moira sex scene was "The Dark Of You" by Breaking Benjamin.
> 
> Clearly we were on a Post-Grunge kick.


	29. Another Perfect Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and her friends arrive at The Castle. Meanwhile, Witch struggles to keep the Harbingers under control in Moira's absence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everybody, give it up for Swan, the real MVP of this chapter! She single handedly wrote a few entire sections of this one, so if you liked it, give her some love in the comments.
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Another Perfect Storm.

* * *

**CHAPTER TWENTY NINE**

**ANOTHER PERFECT STORM**

* * *

**March 4th, 2288.**

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost…”

The sun was barely cresting over the horizon as the party of seven- eight including Dogmeat- passed from building to building, alley to alley, following the coast and the dockyards towards Fort Independence. The decision to depart Goodneighbor at such a late hour the night before was one made of necessity; Winlock and Barnes had turned up looking for MacCready, so the party slipped away in the night.

“How about-”

“Simon, I swear to God…” Piper glared over her shoulder and the mechanic. Dogmeat huffed a sigh that faded to a whine as he also turned towards Simon.

“Well, we’re _almost_ there,” Rhiannon promised, turning back to address the group, “We’ve just gotta skirt around the Gwinnett Brewery… and the restaurant outside of it that’s crawling with Super Mutants, and then it’ll be right around the corner.”

“Oh, so we just gotta kill a bunch’a mutants before we can get some real fuckin’ sleep. Great.” Cait grumbled, stepping around a ruined old car.

“Probably… Unless the Minutemen have cleared the place out.” The General sighed, not looking forward to the inevitability of having to fight her way through the Gwinnett property yet again.

“Something tells me you don’t have much faith in that possibility.” Valentine observed as his glowing cigarette illuminated his face.

“Well… when I last left, at least, they were a little green,” Rhiannon admitted, glancing over at the Synth, “And sometimes it feels like Preston and I are the only competent people in the-”

The words died in Rhiannon’s mouth when she turned back to the road ahead. The Gwinnett restaurant had been cleared out, the bodies of the former occupants and their grotesque hounds still scattered, laser burns marring the corpses of the Super Mutants.

“You were saying?” Nick asked with a tiny chuckle.

“Could’ve been the Brotherhood,” MacCready shrugged.

“Yeah, _or_ you could have a little faith in the Minutemen, and their General,” Piper smacked the mercenary on the arm.

“Either way, I’m not complaining about an easy stroll,” Lilith chimed in.

“Woof!” Dogmeat added, heading through the carnage with a spring in his step.

“So…” Simon looked at the others, “So, we’re ‘there yet?’”

* * *

As the sun was barely cresting over the horizon, Caldwell woke. Still curled against his chest, Moira remained asleep, her soft breath tickling the side of his neck. One arm was wrapped around his waist, and were it not for the still spreading bruises across her cheek, she might even look peaceful.

_“That wicked brain of yours decide my punishment yet?”_

For some reason, Caldwell had felt a pang of guilt when she’d asked that. She had done nothing that wasn’t justified; he had done the same to Allen Mack when he’d returned to Vault 101. Mason fully deserved the beating he suffered. However, Caldwell was still the Overboss, and he still had set an example. No one was above his law. So why did it bother him that Moira was also not exempt?

But then an epiphany washed over the Overboss: it didn’t bother _Caldwell_ . It bothered _James_.

Taking his time and moving carefully, Caldwell eventually detached Moira from his side and rose. Walking over to the bar, he grabbed the first cola bottle he saw and started drinking. This invisible game between them, this testing of wills and boundaries… it was growing interesting. Since she’d learned his name, Moira had taken every private opportunity to use it, to remind him that, where she was concerned, he was not the Overboss Caldwell. He was just a man.

Overboss Caldwell was strong and powerful. He had dominance and control over eight raider gangs. At his word, settlements would burn. On the other hand, James was unable to save his father. James was unable to save Sarah. James was weak and powerless. The Overboss _hated_ James.

Turning back towards where Moira slept, Caldwell took a deep breath. James was in his ear once again, whispering abandoned memories of better times. Moira was _nothing_ like Amata or Sarah. She was ruthless, cunning, deadly, had a vicious tongue. She knew how to play the raider game, knew how to use everything- even kindness and softness, even _his_ power and temper- as _her_ weapons. She had a mind like a diamond, was sharp as a tack, her eyes burned like a lit cigarette when she hungered, and her voice was dark like tinted glass.

And yet James continued to draw parallels between this wild woman and the loves of his past. If James and Overboss Caldwell were so different, why was James all but _demanding_ that he draw ever closer to the Banshee? To show affection, mercy, and compassion to a woman who needed none?

* * *

“Look! The General has returned!”

Rhiannon gave a small wave as they approached the ruined wall of The Castle. The sun was a little higher now, bathing the sky in brilliant colors, and painting a picturesque portrait of Fort Independence that gave a rush of optimism to the weary travellers.

“Please tell me there’s somewhere we can sleep,” Simon begged, happy to be there yet.

“There’s a barracks, yes,” Rhiannon confirmed, “If there aren’t enough beds, we do have spare mattresses… last I checked, we didn’t need to build any more bunks, so they should still be free if we need them.”

“And some of us can share,” Lilith added.

“They’re single beds.”

“Point stands.”

“General!” Preston called, waving as he approached with two other Minuteman and an older woman, “It’s good to have you back- what’s with the Brotherhood power armor?”

“It’s uh, regulation,” Rhiannon answered, a little sheepishly.

“The hell you mean ‘regulation?’” The older woman snapped, her hands on her hips, “I thought you were the General, not-”

“Whoa, Ronnie, calm down,” Preston stepped between the veteran and the General’s party, “Rhiannon, this is Ronnie Shaw, a veteran Minuteman who came back after hearing of the good work we’ve been doing. Ronnie, this is General DiMaggio-”

“Kennedy. It’s… Rhiannon Kennedy now.”

“General Kennedy,” Preston corrected himself, giving Rhiannon a curious side glance.

“Nice to meet you,” Ronnie approached and offered her hand, “Sorry if I stepped out of line… don’t much care for the Brotherhood of Steel.”

“Neither do we,” Simon piped up as Rhiannon and Ronnie shook hands, “We just needed the power armor.”

“Simon, just the man I wanted to see,” Preston smiled, “We’ve got a robot situation. There’s an old Sentry Bot that needs reprogramming.”

“Oh, this I _gotta_ see!” Lilith grinned.

“Why don’t we have a quick meeting in the war room to make sure everyone’s on the same page, and then we’ll get to work?” Rhiannon suggested to the group.

“You mean ‘and then we’ll get to _sleep_ ,’” MacCready corrected her.

“That too.”

“Awoo.” Dogmeat let out a whine that turned to a low howl, giving Rhiannon a pitiful look.

“Alright,” The General sighed as she amended her previous statement, “And then we’ll get some sleep.”

Dogmeat’s ears perked up, and his tail gave a few wags.

* * *

“Fontayne, they fucked with us, come on!” Ellison slammed his gas mask onto the table, pleading with his fellow Omen. Fontayne scoffed, dealing another card to himself as he played a game of solitaire in the corner seating area.

“Listen, if you think there’s anything I want more than to go back to that fucking amphitheatre and put my foot through Mason’s stupid fucking head, then you’re wrong. But Caldwell’s got him and Mags running the Gauntlet today. He falls and it throws the Pack into what Sinead likes to call a ‘power vacuum.’ Then they do all the hard work themselves and we tidy up what’s left.”

Volos, having discovered that Fontayne would often ‘accidentally’ drop food during breakfast, hunched nearby and sniffed at the cards, upsetting their positions.

“Damn it,” Fontayne sighed, trying to shuffle them back into place. “Anyways, point is, we’re not declaring a war unless Witch or Banshee gives the signal. You want me to send in the Spectres, get their go ahead. I’m sure as shit not running the Gauntlet for stepping out of line.”

“What about the Operators?” Ellison argued. “They clearly were involved, and if the Gauntlet does Mags in, there’s still William.”

“Yeah.” Fontayne fixed Ellison with a look that clearly implied he needed to listen to himself speak. “The fox dies and we’re left with a goldfish in charge. Again, they’ll do the heavy lifting.”

“The fuck is a goldfish?” Another Harbinger asked, looking over.

“Stay out of this, Silver,” Fontayne snapped. The Harbinger flinched and hurried off. Ellison turned back to the man at the table.

“You’re usually the first one advocating for violence.” Ellison sank into the chair across from Fontayne. “I just need two, maybe three people. Ghost, maybe Resnick, Guillermo-”

“I said _no_ , Ellison.” Fontayne gave Volos a gentle shove away as the Deathclaw’s tongue flickered against his deck of cards. “We’re not risking any more of our lives.”

“Fine.” Ellison leaned back in his seat, holding up his hands. “Didn’t think the Pack could beat _you_ into submission, but I guess that last fight with them has you with your tail between your legs.”

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Fontayne got to his feet.

“I said you’re a goddamn coward who doesn’t give enough of a shit that two of us got _killed_.”

Fontayne drew his revolver and leaned across the table, aiming it between Ellison’s eyes. The other Harbingers in the room stilled, all watching the confrontation in stunned silence.

“I’ll kill you right fucking here,” Fontayne snarled.

“Like hell you will,” Ellison scoffed. “If you’re chicken about what Caldwell will do to you, you’re not gonna risk pissing off the Banshee.”

“Call me a fucking coward one more fucking time. One more time. I _fucking_ dare you! I _double-dare_ you! Call me a fucking coward! One! More! Fucking! Time!”

“Hey!” The pair turned to the hall as Witch stepped into the room. “What the hell is going on in here? Fontayne, put your goddamn gun away.”

Fontayne hesitated, but lowered his weapon and holstered it. Ellison continued to glare at him across the table.

“Now why the fuck are you two pulling weapons on each other?” Witch demanded, walking over to their corner. The rest of the Harbingers slowly went back to minding their own business. Neither Ellison nor Fontayne answered, and Witch rolled his eyes.

“I appreciate that neither of you are willing to snitch, but I’m not going to ask again. Fontayne, why did you pull your gun on Ellison?”

“He pissed me off,” Fontayne admitted through his teeth.

“He pissed you off,” Witch echoed with a sigh. “And Ellison, what did you do to piss him off?”

“I called him a spineless coward. Because he’s a spineless coward.”

Fontayne’s fist shot out, punching Ellison square in the face. “What the _fuck_ did I say?!”

Ellison clutched his nose as it began to trickle blood. “If you cared about anyone besides yourself-”

A gunshot silenced both men as Witch drew his pistol and fired into the table between them, sending cards scattering across the floor.

“Both of you shut the fuck up!” The second aimed the gun at Fontayne. “Now tell me what the fuck is going on. Why is he calling you a coward?”

“Because I don’t want to go to war with the other gangs,” Fontayne replied, smugly watching as Ellison tried in vain to stop from bleeding on himself.

“‘War with the other gangs?’” Witch now leveled his pistol at Ellison. “What is he talking about?”

“I don’t want to wait around for the bosses to talk shit out,” Ellison answered. “We were wronged and we need to do something about it.”

“And then we end up in deep shit like the Pack and Operators?” Witch scoffed.

“Thank you!”

“Shut _up_ , Fontayne. Listen, this is bullshit. All of this. If I’d known this was coming I wouldn’t have let the Banshee bring us to Nuka World. But we’re here, and we’re going to deal with it. Right now, playing the victims is working for us.”

“Really?” Ellison shot back, shoving Witch’s gun out of his face as he stood. “Because it seems to me like it’s just sending the signal that we can be fucked like a bunch of little bitches and we’ll just bend over and take it, and let our daddy the Overboss kiss it better.

“The Banshee told us before we came here that we were supposed to make the other gangs fear us, to never let them forget we’re at the top of the food chain. And right now we’re being treated like shit.”

“She also told us that we were going to play nice,” Witch reminded Ellison. “And that we were going to be as respectful to Caldwell as we are to her, and Caldwell made it _abundantly_ clear what fighting with the other gangs will get us.”

“Ellison’s right. It’s easy for her to talk about obeying the Overboss when she’s taking his dick every other night,” Greyson interrupted. The air didn’t even have the chance to leave the room before Witch fired a shot across the room and into the man’s guts.

Greyson hit his knees, holding the wound as it blossomed with blood. Witch stormed over and grabbed the younger Harbinger’s hair, twisting it in his grasp and jerking Greyson’s head back as he loomed over him. Witch shoved his pistol up under Greyson’s chin.

“You had better be goddamn glad that the Banshee didn’t hear you say that.” Witch’s voice was low and deadly. “She would skin you alive, and that’s no exaggeration. _I’m_ just going to blow your brains out and set an example.”

As Greyson opened his mouth to plead, Witch shoved the barrel of the gun past the man’s lips and pulled the trigger. Tossing the body to the floor, he rounded on the others in the room.

“Anyone else have something to say about this?” he demanded. The other Harbingers all looked to the floor or whatever personal task they’d been working on, silent as a graveyard. “That’s what I thought. Ellison, go get your sister to fix your nose and then clean up this mess. Fontayne, the Banshee will deal with you when she gets back.”

Ellison quietly got to his feet and left to find Stitches in her clinic.

“I hear any single one of you even _breathe_ about the Banshee’s decisions, or about starting a war, and so help me God, you’ll be the side dish to Greyson tonight. Am I clear?”

A chorus of muttered agreement spread across the room. It had been a long time since one of their own had been put down for treason or failure, and Witch hoped the reminder wasn’t necessary for anyone else.

* * *

“I know we’re tired, but let’s just power through this,” Rhiannon addressed the occupants of the war room, which doubled as her bedroom. Several individuals eyed the queen-sized bed at the far side of the room with envy, wanting nothing more than to dive onto the mattress and get some well-needed rest.

“First question, why does _he_ get to sleep now?!” Cait asked, pointing at Dogmeat, who had curled up on Rhiannon’s bed.

“Alright, let’s see what insights the _dog_ can give us,” Simon rolled his eyes, turning in his chair to the German Shepherd, “Have anything to share, boy?”

With a lazy howl that devolved into a yawn, Dogmeat stretched out and pawed the air, seemingly gesturing to himself.

“More belly rubs. Got it.” Lily, perched on the bed beside the German Shepherd, immediately began to scratch and rub his belly.

“We’ll start with you Preston, how have things been since I left?” Rhiannon turned to her right-hand man.

“Well, recruitment has remained steady. Radio Freedom has really helped the settlements further out, and some of our more tech-savvy members have been working on restoring old ham radios so that settlements can communicate better with us, and each other.”

“Sounds like a ‘you’ job.” Piper elbowed Simon in the ribs.

“Since Ronnie showed up, our recruits have been… well, put through the wringer. But they come out as better soldiers and better men and women for it.” Preston concluded.

“Huh. Well, with that kind of an endorsement… I’d like to officially welcome you back to the Minutemen, Colonel Shaw.” Rhiannon nodded to Ronnie.

“Thank you, General,” She saluted, “Colonel Garvey and I were working on getting to the old armoury, until Sarge went haywire. When he’s all fixed up… or destroyed, we can move on.”

“Well, we’ll get right on that after the meeting then.” Rhiannon nodded, “Anything else?”

“I thought we were sleeping after the meeting,” Simon protested.

“Maybe you can just… deactivate Sarge for now then?” Preston asked, “Then worry about reprogramming him after you get a little rest.”

“…Fine,” Simon grumbled, sinking into his seat a little.

“What about you, General?” Preston turned back to Rhiannon. “Any breakthroughs?”

“Actually, yes,” Rhiannon replied with a small smile. “We think we have an idea of where to find a former Institute scientist to help us get inside.”

“Only problem,” MacCready sighed, “is that this scientist is in the middle of the Glowing Sea.”

“Hence the need for the power armor,” Piper finished.

“Well, one of our patrols near Sanctuary just brought back some power armor,” Preston shrugged, “Feel free to take it, plus the one you got back when we first met. We had to bring both suits to the Castle because of a Super Mutant-”

“Preston.” Rhiannon addressed the Colonel, but her eyes were on Simon. “Where, _exactly_ did you find that other suit of power armor?”

“Well, the patrol said they found it while checking on Satellite Station Olivia, in the wreckage of-”

“You don’t say.”

Simon had sunk down in his seat under Rhiannon’s burning stare.

“Uhh… General?” Preston coughed into his fist, “Are… you okay?”

“Just peachy, Preston.”

“It’s not like I _knew_ they had it!” Simon snapped under the weight of Rhiannon’s gaze, “If I knew that the Minutemen had it, I’d’ve… I… I wouldn’t’ve pressured you into joining those Brotherhood assholes! I didn’t know!”

“Look on the bright side, Rhiannon.” MacCready smirked. “You lost about one hundred and eighty or so pounds dropping your ex.”

Preston, who’d paused to take a drink, spewed cola across the table, “You… I… ex… but… what?!”

“Oh yeah, _that_ happened too,” Simon grimaced, “By the way, as far as the Brotherhood are concerned, Piper and I are married.”

“What?!”

“ _Engaged,_ ” Piper specified.

“Until the Spring! You said you wanted a Spring wedding!”

“I’ll catch you up later,” Rhiannon promised, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Well… okay… wow… that’s a lot…” Preston blinked twice, “Okay. I’m almost afraid to ask… but is there anything else we should know?”

“That’s about everything, right?” Rhiannon looked around the table. “Nick, Lily? Anything to add?”

“Not from my end,” Valentine replied, looking up from the spot on the table he’d been staring at.

“Lily?”

There was no response. As they turned to the bed, they could see both Lilith and Dogmeat sleeping, the merc using the German Shepherd as her pillow.

“Oh for…” MacCready rose from his seat, grabbing an unopened can of purified water. Cracking it open, he poured a splash over the sleeping mercenary’s face. Lilith and Dogmeat both shot up immediately.

“What the _fuck_ , Cready?!”

“Simon told me to,” MacCready shrugged, “And y’know… ‘Simon says…’”

“Wha-” Simon’s mouth dropped open.

“What the _fuck_ , Simon?!” Lilith turned to glare at the mechanic.

“I… I didn’t… say… anything?” Simon stuttered in confusion as his anxiety spiked. Lilith rolled her eyes and smacked MacCready upside the head as she stood up.

“Asshole.”

“I think we all need some sleep,” Piper interrupted.

“Yes,” Rhiannon agreed, “Simon, could borrow you for a minute to deactivate Sarge? Then you can go right to sleep.”

“Fine,” Simon huffed, recovering from his moment of panic.

Lilith flipped MacCready off and followed Simon, Rhiannon, Preston, and Ronnie from the room. Dogmeat hopped back up onto the bed, snarling at the rifleman before curling up away from the wet spot.

“Smooth move, kid,” Nick chuckled once they’d left. “She’ll be all over you now.”

“Shut up, Nick.” MacCready stormed out of the war room, headed for the nearest unoccupied mattress.

* * *

When Moira finally woke, it was to the smell of something cooking, a throbbing pain where Mason had punched her in the face the day before, and a dull, sore ache where her rib had snapped. Puzzled by the foremost, she cracked open one eye, sniffing at the air.

“Good morning.”

“... Good morning.” It took her a beat to respond. Moira sat up and turned towards the sound of Caldwell’s voice.

“I took the liberty of making breakfast,” The Overboss continued, his voice carrying from just behind the stubby, makeshift wooden fence that separated his sleeping area from the rest of the Fizztop Grille, “I made Deathclaw omelette with some crispy cricket in it. You want a drink too?”

“A Victory,” Moira replied, rubbing at her eyes. The warpaint she wore rarely smeared under her fingers, but she was still careful. Moments later, Caldwell returned with a platter carrying two plates and two bottles of Nuka Cola Victory. Each plate had an omelette with… strips of bacon? Where’d he find bacon?

Moira wasn’t about to question it; it was food, and if there was a God, he knew she wasn’t picky about what she ate. Taking the plate and the bottle offered to her, she made herself comfortable against the pillows. “Breakfast in bed. How cute.”

“I’d rather make breakfast once. Besides, you’d probably mess up my kitchen.” Caldwell smirked as he put the tray on a nearby table and took his plate. The Overboss kissed the top of Moira’s head before settling down beside her.

“You’re correct there. I’m not much of a cook,” Moira admitted, before hiding a yawn against the back of her hand.

“You like it raw?” Caldwell chuckled to himself as he ate one of his pieces of bacon.

Moira didn’t dignify that with a response, instead also biting into her bacon. As soon as it hit her tongue, she knew the taste, and paused. Her gaze fixed on Caldwell, watching him eat. Caldwell ate a second piece of bacon before turning to meet her eyes.

“What? Is it overcooked? Undercooked?” While the questions would seem innocent enough to anyone else, Moira could tell the bacon was made from human flesh.

“No, it’s fine.” Something changed in her eyes as she observed him, but what it was was impossible to tell. Finishing her piece, she smirked. “Too much to hope for that it’s Mason or Mags on my plate?”

“Unfortunately not.” Caldwell responded, “They still have their uses… for now.”

Moira’s smirk widened into a wicked smile, but she turned back to her meal. “Shame. If they outlive those uses, let me know.”

“I’ll be sure to do that.”

She made no further attempts to break the silence, content to enjoy her food in peace. It was good, she had to admit; better than she could ever hope to make. As he finished his meal, abandoning the plate on some nearby crate, Caldwell spoke up.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been punched in the face half a dozen times,” Moira replied with a smirk. She finished her bacon and then set her plate next to his.

“Ha ha.” Caldwell deadpanned, gently setting a hand on the Banshee’s wounds, “I mean your side.”

“Better.” She watched his fingers trace the bruises on her abdomen.

“I have another Stimpack if you want it.”

“You might need it at some much more dire point.” Moira’s hand found his and trailed up his arm absently. “I’ll live.”

“I’ll be refilling my stock later today, I may as well give it to you while you’re here.”

“Alright, fine.”

Caldwell once again reached behind the headboard to retrieve the emergency medical kit, taking the last Stimpack before hiding it away again. Resting a hand on Moira’s chest, he held the needle just above the skin.

“Ready?”

Moira nodded, the hand that hand been tracing the line of his arm now resting on his hip, her fingertips circling gently. A moment later he jabbed the stim into her side, slowly depressing the plunger until the contents transferred into her system.

“Better?” Caldwell asked as he withdrew the empty Stimpack and threw it away. The Banshee stretched, the pain in her rib nearly faded.

“Much. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Can I ask for one more thing before I go?”

Caldwell tilted his head quizzically, wondering what Moira would ask.

“I want you to eat me out, like you did that first night.” The Banshee trailed her fingertips along the side of his face, her legs spreading for him.

“I think I can do that…” Caldwell smirked, allowing the woman to guide his mouth to where she needed it.

“I’ll repay the favor,” Moira purred, pulling a pillow vertical to recline back against it.

“I know,” Caldwell replied before diving in, starting slowly with his tongue. Moira immediately released a sigh, one leg hooking over his shoulder. At this encouragement, he maneuvered a hand to tease her.

“Ah, slower,” Moira instructed, her breath hitching. “It’s good, James, but... slower.”

“Mmmhmm.” Caldwell followed the request, both hand and tongue slowing, sometimes taking turns as to which one did anything at all.

As Moira let out another moan, the door suddenly burst open.

“Oh Jay-Jay! It’s-” Sierra’s cheerful voice cut into a horrified shriek, the bottle of Nuka Cola in her hand dropping to the floor and shattering.

“Sierra. How’s it going?” Caldwell asked, reluctantly pulling away from Moira and standing up. The Banshee propped herself up on her elbows and fixed the intruder with a frigid glare.

“So… I… I take it…” The blonde stammered, blinking furiously as she tried to wake herself from the bad dream she thought she was having.

“Actually, _she’s_ the one who was taking it.” Caldwell gestured to Moira, “What do you want?”

“Well, I _wanted_ to remind you that you promised to look for hidden Cappys with me, but… but…” The woman suddenly snapped, grabbing a bottle of cola from Caldwell’s bar and threw it at him, “ _How could you_?!”

Caldwell caught the bottle without difficulty, rolling his eyes at the attempt as he passed it off to Moira, “How could I _what_ Sierra? At what point did I ever indicate that we were anything more than friends? When did I even say we were friends at all?”

“Ouch,” Moira chuckled, opening the bottle of cola and taking a sip.

“You’re not the Jay-Jay I remember!” Sierra began to sob, “You’re not the Jay-Jay who scoured the Capital Wasteland for Quantum and gave me my first kiss over a glowing bottle! You’re not the Jay-Jay who gave purified water to everybody! You’re not the Jay-Jay who saved Megaton, and Big Town, and killed all the slavers in Paradise Falls! You’re just a selfish, evil _monster_!”

“And you’re an _idiot_ for not realizing that sooner. _How_ long have you been in Nuka World, Sierra?” Caldwell scoffed.

“Fuck you!” Sierra threw one more bottle that sailed past Caldwell and out the window behind him before storming off.

The bosses were left in silence, before Moira set her hand on Caldwell’s arm. Her expression and voice dripped with sarcastic sympathy, “I’m sorry you’re not ‘Jay-Jay’ anymore. This must be very difficult for you.”

Something very dark clicked in Caldwell, a hand snapping out to grab Moira by the neck and pull her to eye level with him, “I _told you_ if you _ever_ referred to me as that…”

“I _didn’t_ ,” Moira protested, pulling at his fingers. “I was joking. You're James-”

“James is a weak, pathetic child!” The Overboss seethed, “James was forced from the Vault he’d called his home into this hellscape! James wandered for _months_ looking for the father who abandoned him! James watched that man die before his very eyes unable to do a fucking goddamn thing to save him! James watched the woman he loved die before his eyes, and once a- _fucking_ -gain he could not do a god- _fucking_ -damn thing to save her! _Do not speak to me about James_!”

With that, Caldwell let go of Moira, and grabbed the bottle from her hands. Moira glared up at him, frost settling on her voice.

“You watched people you loved die. How _utterly_ tragic for you. You know who else watched that happen, helpless? Me. And Witch. And probably three-quarters of the people who have no choice but to survive in this so-called ‘Hellscape,’ if not more. My father bled out in my mother’s arms and she took her own life. In front of me. And I was thirteen. Do not speak to _me_ of death, _James Caldwell_.”

At this mention of his name, Caldwell’s grip on the glass tightened hard enough to shatter it, spilling cola, broken glass, and blood on the floor. And yet the pain brought him back to reality, and Caldwell, who openly seethed before, was taken aback when her words ran through his mind a second time. The Overboss found a seat at the end of the bed, facing towards the lift.

“Moira… sit here. Please.”

The Banshee kept her distance for a beat before joining Caldwell at the edge of the bed.

“What I am about to tell you is not something I am used to saying.” Caldwell started, his head held high, “I’m sorry. Understand that I have been trying to bury _James_ for a long time, longer than I’ve been Overboss of Nuka World. But I was out of line, and I apologize.”

The Banshee blinked. Once, twice, then a third time, unsure she’d heard correctly. “You have no idea what other people have seen. What others have been through. You are not the only one who’s known pain. I hear ‘Kincaid’ and all I think about is a weak and terrified family unable to fight against the Gunners that tore their home down around their heads. I think about the chem dealer who was stupid enough to fall in love with her boss, and who continues to suffer for it.”

“Moira… I need to be alone right now,” Caldwell rose, pulling on a pair of pants, “Go back to your people, tend your flock. I will let you know what I’ve decided for your punishment privately ahead of the next inner council meeting.”

“Very well.” Moira got to her feet and began to collect the scattered articles of her clothing, most of them coated in dried blood. Dressing quickly, she picked up her unfinished bottle of Victory from the nightstand.

“Wait,” Caldwell caught the Banshee’s wrist before she could leave, standing chest to chest with her.

Slowly, his bloodied hand reached up and gently cupped the side of her face. As she had that day they’d met, she merely raised an eyebrow, looking up into his eyes. Caldwell leaned in to close the gap between them, his lips just brushing hers. There was barely half a beat before Moira sealed their lips together, her hand mirroring his by finding his cheek.

The kiss felt… _different_ than usual, though neither could quite place how. But it was _nice_ and Moira found herself not wanting to pull away, or leave, or do anything but move her lips with his. The kiss seemed to be in its own dimension of time and space, and Caldwell could barely perceive anything outside of this single moment until they broke away from each other, neither knowing how long they’d spent intertwined.

“I… I’ll… I’ll see you later.” Caldwell finally spoke, his voice quiet and almost _timid_ as he stepped away, turning his back on Moira.

Moira tried twice to reply, but could conjure no words. She blinked a few times, and then quickly headed to the lift and pressed the button, unsure why her hands were shaking.

* * *

“Oh… let’s see… I used to know this password…” Ronnie sighed as she leaned towards the nearby terminal, “‘One if by land…’ no, that’s not it…”

“Well, Sarge is having a nap,” Simon clapped his hands, “Speaking of naps, can I _please_ go to sleep now?”

“ _Please_ ,” Lilith echoed from where she leaned against the wall.

“‘For The Commonwealth…?’ Goldarnit, it’s been a long time…” Ronnie cursed, another password denied.

“Alright,” Rhiannon gave an exaggerated sigh, “I guess so.”

“I’ll fix ‘im later,” Simon waved goodbye as he grabbed Lily by the elbow, “C’mon, we’re sleeping.”

"Finally.” Lilith looped her arm with Simon’s and followed him out.

“‘United We Stand…’” Suddenly the maglocks unsealed, the barred door opening, “That was it!”

“Let’s go, General.” Preston pat Rhiannon on the back, startling the woman.

“Sorry. I probably need to rest my eyes a bit, too. It’s... it’s been a weird couple of days.”

Preston gave her a sympathetic smile and led the way into the next room. Within, a number of empty wine bottles lay scattered around a long-dead body. The corpse in question wore a long, navy blue coat and a tricorn hat, the makings of an officer’s uniform.

“Amontillado?” Rhiannon lifted a bottle, squinting at the dusty label, and then at the second skeleton she could see chained within a broken section of the wall.

“Well, that explains the landmines,” Ronnie glanced over at Preston for a moment, “This is… well, _was_ General McGann. He was the General back when I joined up. Must’ve gotten himself trapped down here when the sea beast attacked The Castle… he _did_ manage to keep the armoury secure, I’ll give him that much.

“The uniform’s yours if you want it… won’t do this old geezer much good anymore,” Ronnie sighed, giving the fallen general a salute, “Rest in peace, General. Your fight is done, and the Minutemen live on. C’mon, the armory should be just up here, behind these doors.”

Reaching down, Rhiannon gently took the hat from the dead Minuteman, looking it over for a moment before placing it on her head. Looking to Preston for approval, the Minuteman squinted as he thought it over before lightly shaking his head.

“Sorry General, but I don’t think you can pull off a tricorn,” He said with a tiny smile, “But the rest of the uniform… that’ll look good on you.”

“Even though a dead man’s been wearing it for how long, exactly?” Rhiannon’s nose wrinkled in disgust as Preston gingerly removed the clothes from the corpse.

“I can fix that,” Preston promised her as he folded the uniform, “We’ll wash it and splash it with perfume. It’ll be ready for you when you’re done resting.”

“Thank you Preston… for everything,” Rhiannon sighed, putting a hand on the Colonel’s bicep.

“No problem, Rhiannon,” Garvey tipped his hat a little.

“Come on, kids!” Colonel Shaw called from up the stairs, “We’ve got the bastion open, and got schematics for artillery!”

“I can handle things from here,” Preston put a hand on Rhiannon’s shoulder, “You get some sleep.”

Numbly, Rhiannon shook her head and followed the Minuteman up the stairs. As he headed into the armoury to coordinate with Ronnie about the artillery, she split off to head to the bed that had been calling to her since she lay eyes on it.

* * *

Witch sat on the edge of Moira’s desk, turning the syringe he’d found over in his fingers. He knew he should turn it over to Stitches, shouldn’t even _consider_ what the rush might feel like. Yet his eyes were affixed to the liquid in the bottle.

 _“If I’d known this was coming..._ ” His own words replayed in his head. His insights had once been invaluable, his visions central to their deliberations and decisions. He’d been an advisor, a prophet. It had nearly killed him, but he’d _felt_ so powerful, so alive.

After another moment of deliberation, he tucked the Psychojet into a pocket of his leather armor. Taking a long, deep breath, Witch headed back out into the common room, which had fallen into a tense silence after the arguments he’d had to subdue that morning. Ellison had taken Greyson’s body away, but there was still a bloodstain on the floor.

Volos and Mutt both lifted their heads as the front door was opened and the Banshee entered, each creature moving to meet her. Witch, however, found himself frozen in place. One half of her face was mottled with the dark bruises from Mason’s beating the day before, and the other displayed a bloody handprint. His vision from the week before came back in a rush, and Witch tasted bile, his hands curling into fists.

Volos lapped most of the blood off of Moira’s cheek before she finally got him and Mutt to back down and go back to their respective corners. Witch waited for her to make her way across the room, before speaking in a voice just loud enough for her to hear.

“Where the fuck were you?”

“Excuse me?” Moira raised an eyebrow as she walked past her second and down the hall. He followed after her closely.

“I had to demote Greyson to Carrion this morning.”

Moira stopped in her doorway, rounding on Witch.

“What? I was going to promote him once the Rocket was finished.”

“Yeah, well, he was backing up Ellison and stepped out of line.”

“Backing up Ellison with what?”

“If you were here, you’d know,” Witch snapped. Moira looked as though he’d slapped her. “I had to stop Fontayne from painting the walls with Ellison’s brain.”

“What happened?” Moira demanded.

“Fontayne was being goaded into helping Ellison start a war with the Pack and Operators. Because Ellison feels like you aren’t doing enough to fight back.”

“If we fight back by bleeding them, we’ll end up in the same boat as Mason and Mags.”

“Which we told Ellison, but he wasn’t entirely wrong.”

“Oh, really?” Moira headed into her room and Witch followed, shutting the door.

“Neither was Greyson, actually. He just shouldn’t have been the one to say it.”

“And what exactly did he say?”

“His word choice isn’t important. The point, Moira, is that we need you here.”

“I’m here.”

“You are _now_ . _After_ I put to bed a possible bloodbath and had to execute one of our own. It’s all well and good that you have a group of people willing to follow you into hell, but that loyalty doesn’t come free. You need to _lead._ ”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if Fontayne hadn’t magically manifested the ability to control his impulses, we could be dying in the streets right now. But you were busy getting fucked while I had to try and handle the aftermath of yesterday. Oh, _and_ the aftermath of the actual attack, because let’s not forget that you spent _that_ night with Caldwell too.”

“I didn’t fuck Caldwell that night.”

“But you weren’t here!”

“You told me I could leave.”

“I told you you could meet with him! I didn’t think I wouldn’t see you again until the next day! Sinead was nearly catatonic! Luka was in hysterics about Brownstone! Stitches ended up giving them Calmex to chill them out, and they _still_ spent the night pacing. _Volos_ was here in your room all night, like he was waiting for you, and I had to stop half the gang from slaughtering him without you here. And _last night?_

“Jesus Christ, Ellison was about ready to set the park on fire! I thought I talked him down but then this morning-” Witch stopped, running a hand through his hair. “I’m one person, Moira. We’re supposed to be a team, and I can only do so much without you. I can only parrot the same five things so many times before they fall on deaf ears. If you want to focus on Caldwell and his dick, I’m more than happy to take over leading the gang. But if not, then you need to focus the fuck up and remember why we came here: to give these people a better, safer life. And we’re just bending over and taking the shit Mags and Mason are throwing at us. If fucking Caldwell has had any benefit, then cash in on it now. Make them fear _us,_ not him. Or maybe we _will_ take things into our own hands.”

Silence hung between the two Harbingers, Moira staring at Witch in disbelief. She struggled to find her voice.

“How _dare_ you-”

“No!” Witch interrupted her. “No, fuck you, Moira! You don’t get to take any kind of high ground or play Banshee with me. Not today! You need to start prioritizing us again, or this entire operation we built is going to crumble, and we’re going to turn into something that’s no better than the asshole raiders in the Commonwealth.”

“This is rich coming from the man who’s been trying to ride Gage’s cock since we showed up!” Moira’s voice began to raise, surprising both of them. But Witch refused to back down.

“Because I’m not our goddamn leader! You are! Or you’re supposed to be! And newsflash, I’ve _still_ been able to fuck Gage _and_ keep the Harbingers from killing each other! Because I actually give a flying fuck about my job!”

Moira hurled the empty Victory bottle she carried at Witch. It sailed just past his ear and shattered against the wall. Witch took a deep breath.

“Figure this shit out, Moira. Either make us your priority again or tell me if I need to show up to the next council meeting in your place. We can’t sustain this without someone at the helm. So remember who the Harbingers are, and remind everyone else of it, or step aside.”

With that, Witch left the Banshee alone, slamming the door behind himself.

* * *

When Rhiannon finally woke, the sun was just beginning to move past its highest point. Her body still rejected the idea of getting out of bed just yet, despite how many orders of business she still had on her plate. Reaching over to give Dogmeat’s sleeping form a few gentle scratches, the general slowly and reluctantly sat up in bed.

Rubbing her eyes, she noticed, on the war table, the uniform they’d found that morning folded neatly, the tricorn hat set on top. With a small smile, Rhiannon finally stood and made her way to the desk, setting the hat aside and picking up the coat. It had clearly been cleaned, and as she sniffed at the collar, Rhiannon could smell the faint hint of Abraxo under a note of perfume.

“Woof.” Dogmeat stretched out on the bed, squirming until he’d found the warmth of the spot Rhiannon had vacated.

“Yeah, Preston’s one of a kind, huh, boy?” Rhiannon began to change into the uniform. It was true; without Preston, she would be completely lost. He’d been a sympathetic ear, a comfort and confidant, a great friend, a loyal Minuteman. Without Preston to keep things under control, she’d never have had the chance to look for Shaun, to get as close as she now was to finding her son and bringing him home. He was invaluable, and she hoped he realized it.

After dressing in the uniform and giving herself a brief once-over in a slightly cracked mirror, Rhiannon pulled open the wooden double doors.

“Oh! Hey! General!” A tanned, dark-haired man doubled back after catching her out of the corner of his eye.

“Good afternoon. Your name’s Crawford, right?” Rhiannon asked, squinting at the vaguely familiar man.

“Vasco Crawford, yes,” The Minuteman saluted, “Colonel Shaw’s got the artillery guns set up.”

“Thank you, Vasco,” Rhiannon returned the gesture, “I’ll go see her now.”

With a final nod, Vasco continued on his way. Taking a deep breath, Rhiannon headed towards the nearest exit. Being saluted was still very strange to her, even though she’d been ‘General DiMaggio’ for a few months. Hell, being a _General_ at all was still in many ways a foreign concept.

“Excuse me, General,” Preston caught her arm as she was about to step out into the courtyard, “Do you have a minute?”

“Anytime, Preston,” Rhiannon replied, slowing to a halt.

“Look…” Preston lowered his voice for a moment, looking up and down the halls of the Castle to see if anyone was eavesdropping, “I know I put you in an almost impossible position when I asked you to lead the Minutemen. I didn’t have any right to have you take that on… I guess I was kind of desperate at that point.

“I _still_ don’t really know why you said yes… if it was for me, or the sake of the Commonwealth, or some other reason. It doesn’t really matter, I just want you to know how much I appreciate what you’ve done. We’ve got a long road ahead of us for sure, but I don’t doubt for a second that you’re the leader the Minutemen needed.”

The praise took Rhiannon aback. After a second, she managed to joke, “Even though most of the time I’m crossing the Commonwealth dealing with my own troubles?”

“From what Valentine tells me, even when chasing down your own problems, you still seem to find time for everyone else’s. You’re good people, Rhiannon.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence…” Rhiannon smiled softly, “It means a lot, especially from you.”

“We make a good team, General,” Preston smiled back, “No doubt about that. Now let’s try out those artillery guns.”

Stepping into the sunlight, Rhiannon fell into step with Preston as they made their way across the courtyard. ‘A good team’ was an understatement. Preston carried the Minutemen almost single-handedly, and she was there to support him. But with her taking the mantle of General, it put a lot of the more official stresses off of the overworked Colonel, and _he_ always had her back when she needed him. It was a warm, welcome dynamic, and she was proud to know him.

Shaking her head, Rhiannon came back to reality just in time for them to meet with Ronnie. Both of the previously-ruined cannons had been repaired or replaced in the hours she’d been resting, and were manned by diligent Minutemen with noise cancelling earmuffs hanging around their necks.

“Gosh darn, it’s good to see artillery here again,” Ronnie sighed as she admired the mortars.

“Let’s see if we can use them,” Rhiannon said, rubbing her hands together eagerly.

“So here’s the thing about the big guns,” Ronnie led Rhiannon and Preston towards the ruined wall, “They can’t fire at anything too close, but their range is impressive… that’s what these here smoke grenades are for. Toss one of those at the bad guys. If we’ve any artillery in range we’ll confirm over the radio and fire on your smoke.”

“I never thought I’d see the day the Minutemen had artillery again…” Preston smiled like a kid on Christmas morning, “Raiders will certainly think twice about attacking a settlement with _this_ kind of firepower.”

“Hold your horses, kid,” Ronnie rolled her eyes, “First we’ve gotta do a test fire. Make sure we can actually hit what we’re aiming at. See that little building over there?”

The older woman pointed off into the distance at a small ruined store with the rusted remains of several cars and trucks around it, “We’ll use that for our aiming point. Turn that radio on your Pip-Boy on and tune it to Radio Freedom so we can confirm when we’re ready.”

“I’ll go gather the others and get some ear protection. We’ll meet on that guard post,” Preston pointed to a wood structure on the wall where a Minuteman peered over the horizon, scanning the area for threats.

“Okay, I’ll see you there,” Rhiannon nodded.

“Don’t forget these,” Ronnie handed Rhiannon a couple smoke grenades.

As the Colonels headed back towards the Castle, Rhiannon walked at a leisurely pace to the testing area. With a tiny smile she remembered meeting with Preston and a few other Minutemen in that very building to discuss battle plans in their mission to retake the Castle from the Mirelurks. Turning a few dials on her Pip-Boy, Rhiannon caught the tail end of something Ronnie had been saying before the broadcast returned to patriotic violin arrangements.

Looking back, Rhiannon caught a glimpse of her friends gathered on the wall. Giving them a nod that they almost certainly wouldn’t see, she pulled the pin on one of her smoke grenades and threw it towards the parking lot. As she rushed back towards the Castle, a thick blue smoke began to rise from one end of the cylindrical device she’d thrown.

“Ooookaaay… got your smoke on the target…” Ronnie’s voice echoed over the loudspeakers and through Rhiannon’s Pip-Boy, “You might wanna stand back. Y’know, just in case.”

“I think we’re far enough back… or we better be,” Simon commented, finding a section of the balcony that wasn’t covered in barbed wire to lean against.

“We’re probably fine, sugar.” Lilith stretched out as far as she could, one hand shielding her eyes.

“Well, if we’re _not_ , it won’t be a problem for long.” MacCready rolled his eyes.

“You’re a real ray of sunshine, MacCready,” Piper deadpanned as Rhiannon joined the group on the wall, taking a moment to catch her breath.

A hush settled over the audience as they watched the column of blue smoke climb skyward. Everyone donned their earmuffs, waiting, watching. After a few moments, Simon removed his ear protection and looked over to Rhiannon and Preston.

“So, is something supposed to-”

_BOOM!_

Simon’s criticism was cut short when one of the artillery cannons fired into the air. A few moments later, the payload sailed down and landed right through the roof of the ruined store.

“Holy shit!” Lilith laughed, hopping up and down excitedly. “Did you see that?!”

“I saw my life flash before my eyes,” Simon responded weakly from the ground, clutching his chest.

“Well put your earmuffs on, idiot,” MacCready scoffed, adjusting his own.

“Come on, sugar,” Lily sighed, pulling Simon back to his feet. She affixed his earmuffs over his ears snugly. “Few more guns to go.”

“What do you mean, ‘a few more-’”

_BOOM!_

Simon was once again cut off by a firing cannon, the shot landing on top of an old car, causing it to explode. Said explosion ignited a chain reaction that detonated the nuclear cores of the other cars that lay nearby.

“Ha! Now _those_ are fireworks!” Cait cheered.

_BOOM! BOOM!_

Now that the guns had been turned in the right direction, there was a significantly shorter delay between volleys. The first gun’s shot landed right on top of the driver’s side of the parked truck, and the second gun’s shot landed amongst the wrecked cars, sending them scattering across the parking lot. A moment later, the truck’s engine began to spout fire, and within a few seconds, exploded.

“That looked good from here,” Ronnie’s voice once again crackled through the speakers, “You’ve now got artillery support… use it wisely, General.”

With the demonstration complete, the Minuteman on guard collected the ear protection from the onlookers. Lily hooked arms with Simon, leading the shaken man towards the armory. Piper, who had been eagerly taking notes, rushed off to find somewhere to write a draft of an article. With a yawn, MacCready headed away, possibly back to the barracks to get some more sleep. Reinvigorated and full of adrenaline, Cait headed off to the kitchen to get some booze from Rupert, the Castle’s chef and barkeep.

“You really are one of the good guys, you know?”

Rhiannon, realizing that only she and her second remained on the wall, raised an eyebrow at Preston’s sudden statement, a sly smirk forming across her face, “I don’t know how to break this to you… but I’m not a ‘guy.’”

“Yeah, I know, obviously,” Preston suddenly flushed, “I mean, not that I was specifically paying _attention_ or anything… well, you know what I mean. But just… hear me out for a second.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Since we met, I think you know I’ve really come to respect you. Both as a leader, and a friend,” The Minuteman continued, “Most people are just out for themselves, one way or another… even the ‘good’ ones. But you’re _different_ . You really _care_ about other people, even when it isn’t convenient or even safe. I’ve seen you risk your life more than once to help people just because it was the right thing to do.”

Preston paused, taking a deep breath.

“I just wanted you to know that… well… it _matters_. That you’re making a difference.”

Rhiannon smiled, “Well… if any of that is true, it’s… a lot of it’s because of _you_ , Preston. You’ve shown me how to be a better person.”

“O-oh. Thanks,” Preston stammered and flushed once again, “That… that means a lot coming from you. Really.”

Rhiannon reached over and pulled Preston into a one-armed hug. The Colonel took a moment before shifting and pulling her into a proper embrace. Giving him one squeeze before she pulled away, Rhiannon nodded over her shoulder.

“I should go check on Simon. I’ll catch you before we leave.”

“Sure thing, General.”

* * *

“No, I’m dead serious,” Lilith was insisting, sitting on the table next to the terminal Ronnie had used to open the way. “Huge glowing eyes, giant wingspan, human body. I saw it with my own two eyes just north of Huntington by like, a few hours, not even.”

“Mothman _does not exist_ ,” Simon reiterated, as he typed lines of code into his Pip-Boy, connected to the Sentry Bot by a cable, “You probably saw some kind of mutated… bat… man.”

“Oh, so a _batman_ is plausible, but Mothman’s not?” Lilith crossed her arms.

“Exactly,” Simon turned back to her for a moment, “Think about the mutated bugs we see. Bloodbugs? Giant mosquitos. Bloatflies? Giant black flies. A mutated moth would just be a bigger moth, not a half moth, half man hybrid.”

“And a bat would just be a bigger bat!” Lily threw up her hands.

“ _Bats aren’t bugs!_ ”

“No, but maybe Mothman isn’t a mutated moth. Maybe he’s something else entirely. Maybe he’s an alien.”

Simon let out a sigh, his head falling forward and hitting Sarge’s back, “Alien is… a little more plausible… at least I’ve _seen_ those…”

“And _I’ve_ seen Mothman. So there, done. Both exist- wait, when did you see aliens?”

“Mojave Wasteland,” Simon responded with a shrug, “I used to have one of their blaster pistols. Hell of a lot better than any laser pistol we’d find out here. Maybe even better than most plasma weapons.”

“Holy shit. Sugar, you _have_ to take me back west. Maybe not all the way, but-”

“There is no possible way I can _ever_ go back there.” Simon interrupted sharply. After a moment, the mechanic took a deep breath, “Listen… someday I’ll sit you down and tell you the whole story. But right now… let’s just say that I did something… _controversial_ , and a _lot_ of people were mad enough about it to put a _massive_ price on my head. So, I faked my death. And as long as those people still believe I’m dead, I’ll be safe, and people I cared about will be too.”

Lilith said nothing, merely looking down at her boots, unsure of how to respond or even if she should.

“Not that the money would even be any good out here,” Simon added hastily, “NCR ain’t shit on the east coast.”

Lily finally cracked a smile, looking back up at Simon. “Guess I’ll have to settle for selling your organs, huh?”

“My organs?” Simon gave an exaggerated gasp, “I thought you just wanted my hands!”

“Well, shit, sugar, we had this conversation! You don’t need _both_ of your kidneys!”

As the banter between the unlikely pair continued to echo around the tunnels, MacCready grimaced from around the corner where he’d been listening, drinking one of the unopened bottles of Amontillado wine. Storming back up the steps, but making sure his footfalls were as silent as possible, the rifleman grumbled to himself, throwing the now-empty bottle to the stone floor.

“‘He’s funny and sweet,’” He muttered in a mocking imitation of Lily’s voice, “He’s boring as a rock, and I grew up in a goddamn cave… can’t keep his damn cool in a firefight, how does he-”

Colliding with a solid object, the rifleman stumbled back, falling onto the ground, “Hey! Watch where-”

“Ow! MacCready?” Rhiannon looked down at the man who had walked into her, and offered him her hand.

“Sorry,” The mercenary apologized, accepting her hand, “I was… a little lost in thought, I guess.”

“That’s alright.” Rhiannon pulled him back to his feet. “I was just going to see how Simon was getting along with Sarge.”

“Well, when I was down there checking if there was any wine left, he was still working… and they were talking about Mothman or something.” MacCready rolled his eyes, “That wine in the basement wasn’t bad, by the way.”

“People still talk about Mothman?” Rhiannon raised an eyebrow.

“ _Apparently_!” MacCready threw his hands up, “Lily keeps going on about how she’s seen him.”

“Did she really?”

“ _No_. Not you too.” MacCready’s face fell.

“Hey there ‘General,’ MacCready,” Cait approached the pair, “Have you got a minute?”

“Of course, anything you need.” Rhiannon turned to Cait with a smile.

“‘Anything I need,’ huh?” Cait eyed the General up and down, “I might take you up on that one day.”

Immediately, Rhiannon turned bright red, stumbling over her words before managing to get out, “Wha- um- what did you need?”

“After Tommy stuck me with you, I was expectin’ to hate your guts… not only because you agreed to pick up me contract, but because I was waitin’ for you to order me around like hired help.” Cait shoved her hands into her pockets, “But so far, you’ve both been treatin’ me like a friend… hell, you’ve been… damn near _nice_ to me. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but all this kindness is startin’ to make me wonder… If there’s _anything_ I learned at the Combat Zone, it was that _nobody_ does things for other people without expectin’ somethin’ in return.”

“What… _exactly_ do you think I’m expecting in return?” Rhiannon asked, glancing towards MacCready in confusion.

“Who knows? Doin’ your laundry, takin’ a bullet for ya, haulin’ your gear… what difference does it make?” Cait asked sharply. Taking a deep breath and running a hand through her hair, the redhead continued. “I don’t think I’m gettin’ through to you. Let me explain what I mean, and then maybe you’ll understand where I’m comin’ from. I spent _three years_ in the Combat Zone. Smelled like puke an’ piss, but I called it home. I was makin’ a few caps, had me own bed to sleep in, and three hot meals a day… _Then_ the raiders took over the place. You know the lot… they aren’t exactly what you’d call ‘the _gentle_ type.’”

“That’s an understatement,” MacCready muttered.

“After they moved in, if ya didn’t keep lookin’ over your shoulder, you were liable to get sucker punched, or robbed… or _worse_.” Cait grimaced, “Didn’t take me long to figure I had to put my hard-earned caps to use. Buyin’ friends was essential to makin’ life easy. So… I guess I’m waiting for the two of ya t’hand me a bill, you know what I mean?”

“Well, I’d have to consult Rook before settling on a price,” MacCready teased, giving Cait a _very_ gentle shove.

“Har har.” Cait rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide the hint of a smile.

“No bill,” Rhiannon shook her head. “You’ve been a big help any time I’ve needed you, and you _are_ our friend, Cait.”

“Thank you, Rhiannon,” Cait could no longer hide a smile, “Tell you what… give me some time and I’ll think of somethin’ I can do to repay you. I’m not a rich girl, but I’m sure we can agree on _somethin’_. After all, what are friends for?”

“Just… don’t push yourself too hard, okay?” Rhiannon advised. “You _did_ just get back on your feet after being poisoned.”

“No promises.” Cait winked at her.

* * *

Mags and Mason _had_ been scheduled to run the Gauntlet at sunrise, but some Operators were caught attempting to sabotage sections of the deadly obstacle course. After making an example of them, Caldwell ordered that the architects of the Gauntlet ensure that it was properly prepared, and rescheduled the event for the following day.

Sitting on a set of oversized stacked tires in front of the Cola Cars arena, Goliath enjoyed a cigar as he watched members of the Doomed and the Disciples pass by. The Super Mutant was on break, his unparalleled strength being put to use for most of the day.

A low whistle caught Goliath’s ear, the source not immediately apparent. Looking around for a moment, the mutant spotted a dark, feathered figure leaned on a nearby lamppost, his arms crossed and a cold expression on his face.

“The lockdown has not yet been lifted,” Goliath grumbled at the Harbinger, “Why do you come, knowing you risk punishment?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you.”

“Then speak,” Goliath ordered, his cigar lighting up and shrinking as he inhaled deeply.

“Why do you keep trying to push the Overboss and the Banshee together?”

“Because I saw it.”

“Saw _what_? How much he’s fucking her and the rest of the Harbingers over?”

“Their _future_.”

Witch paused, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, you saw their future?”

“I see things in my dreams,” Goliath rumbled, exhaling a plume of thick smoke, “Visions of what is to be. Some Humans call it… the Sight. Something you are familiar with.”

“Yeah.” Witch shook his head. “Yeah, but listen, Moi- the Banshee can’t keep up this little affair. We need her more than he does.”

“How do you know that?” Goliath asked, flicking his cigar into the distance, “Have you Seen disaster in their future? I have not. I have Seen the future of Nuka World, and it hinges upon them joining.”

“I don’t really give a fuck about Nuka World. I give a fuck about the Harbingers, and we are literally _dying_ without her around.”

“Harbingers are a part of Nuka World now. You will live. But if the fair lady and the Overboss do not come together, you will all die. Do not confuse your wants and fears for fate and destiny. I have Seen what is to be, and I will see it happen.”

“Well how nice for you to be able to See what’s coming, but I don’t have that luxury anymore, and I can only rely on what I know to be true. And that’s that-”

“You have Psychojet. Hidden,” Goliath interrupted, “You need it to See.”

Witch tensed, his eyes widening slightly. After a beat, his mouth suddenly dry, he nodded.

“If you wish to See what I have, then use your device in a barren land when the sun is high,” Goliath got up from his seat, “Then you will know why I push them together.”

“Wait, what?” Witch blinked. “The _time and place_ matters?”

“That is when I Saw you realize I was right.”

“So what if I use the chems right here and now?”

“Then perhaps I will not know what you will See.”

“But it’d prove you wrong.”

“Would it?” Goliath asked, a grin forming on the Super Mutant’s face, his beady red eyes focused on the feathered man.

“This is hardly a barren land.”

“Do you see trees? Grass?” Goliath gestured to the ground around them, “Nothing has grown that man did not force.”

“Then what if I wait for the sun to go down?”

“Who knows. Maybe it will cause your little human heart to give up. Maybe it will tell you nothing about fair lady and the Overboss. Maybe it will prove I am right all the same.”

“How many people am I expected to lose before everything comes out right?”

“I have Seen three more.”

“That’s too goddamn many.”

“What is the Human saying…” Goliath pondered, “‘You cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs?’”

“They aren’t eggs!” Witch protested. “They’re lives! Human lives that I’m meant to help protect.”

“Not Human.”

“What?”

“If I tell you everything, then you may die trying to stop the inevitable,” Goliath responded simply.

“What the Sight shows us is not set in stone.”

“Human myths tell of prophets who warn of the future, and Humans trying to fight fate leads the prophecy to its rightful end. I do not _fight_ the way, I lay the path for it to _find_ its way.”

“Keep out of Moira’s head,” Witch snapped. “She doesn’t need your path.”

“I do not _need_ to be in her head,” Goliath smirked, lumbering away, “The first steps have already been taken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goliath has the Sight! Suddenly a lot of his vague statements seem to make sense, don't they?
> 
> {Also in light of Fallout 76, I just HAD to have Lilith have a Mothman sighting. I mean, she grew up in West Virginia!}


	30. Total Eclipse of The Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm about to go on tour again, so chances are there won't be another chapter until I get back... consider this a hiatus warning. Shouldn't be too long though.
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content, Excessive Alcohol Use
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Bonnie Tyler.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY**

**TOTAL ECLIPSE OF THE HEART**

* * *

**March 4th, 2288.**

“Are we there yet?”

“Sugar,  _ please _ stop asking that.”

“Every time you ask that, this trip takes another five minutes.”

Piper let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. She had only intended to bring Simon to escort her back to Diamond City… and to fix her printing press, as he’d told the Brotherhood that he had. However, once she asked him, Lily immediately volunteered, and as soon as she did, MacCready also decided to accompany them. They’d left not long after Simon got Sarge up and running again, and that wasn’t more than an hour after the artillery test fire. It was still mid-late afternoon as the group navigated the streets, alleyways, and ruined buildings of Boston.

“We’re  _ almost  _ there,” The reporter promised the mechanic, “As long as we don’t run into anything or anyone nasty on the way, we should be there before sundown.”

“Oh thank God,” Simon sighed, “I’m hungry.”

“We can get some food when we grab our room at the Dugout,” Lilith assured him.

“The Dugout?” Piper wrinkled her nose, “Seriously? You’d trust  _ Vadim _ with your food?! No, you wanna go to Power Noodles.”

“Yeah, but all they have are noodles,” Simon retorted.

“Hey!” MacCready protested, “Those are the best noodles in the Commonwealth!”

“Yeah, but you can’t customize your order,” Lily argued. “By the way, sugar, I bet a man that we could fix the noodle bot.”

“You what now?” Simon turned sharply to Lily before walking into a stop sign.

“Well, there was no money on the table,” Lily specified, gently taking Simon’s face in her hands to see if he was alright, “So it’s not technically a bet.”

“So we don’t bother,” Simon shrugged, “I don’t have to prove anything to some… guy.”

“And I’m pretty sure half of Diamond City would run you out of town for ‘ruining’ Takahashi.” Piper rolled her eyes.

“Fine, let the robot stay broken,” Lilith huffed.

After a few minutes of silence, Simon spoke up again.

“So… are we-”

“Simon Lopez, if you say that  _ one more time _ , I will kick your ass!”

* * *

“Finally,” Piper sighed as they passed underneath the gate, secretly relieved that Diamond City Security didn’t slam the gate shut once they saw her coming, “Home sweet home.”

“Let’s go get food,” Lilith said eagerly, grabbing Simon’s hand.

“Yeah,  _ that’s _ why you want to rush to the Dugout,” MacCready scoffed.

Narrowing her eyes, Piper reached into her coat for a cigarette, then pat around her pockets, “Aw, shit… Hey, MacCready, do you have a light?”

“Yeah.” The rifleman reached into his pocket and passed the lighter to Piper, still glaring as Lily pulled Simon down the steps.

“Wanna share?” Piper asked, lighting her cigarette. This caught MacCready’s attention, and he turned back to her in surprise. Piper took a drag, then offered the cigarette to him.

“Yeah, sure.” He shrugged, his fingers lingering against Piper’s for a moment as he took the smoke from her hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Something’s bugging you,” Piper spoke plainly, causing MacCready to choke and cough for a moment after her statement caught him off guard.

“What?”

“Don’t give me that…” Piper rolled her eyes, “If it were any more obvious, you’d be lit up like a neon sign. So, what is it?”

“It’s not important.” MacCready passed the cigarette back to the reporter.

“Sure it’s not,” Piper took the cigarette back, inhaling from it for a moment before continuing, “And I bet it has  _ absolutely nothing  _ to do with those heart eyes you’ve been shooting Lily’s way when she’s not looking.”

“Wha- heart- no- I mean- that’s- she has- her and Simon-” MacCready sputtered.

Piper raised an eyebrow, taking a drag.

“I don’t see what she sees in Simon,” MacCready finally said.

“You never have. That’s why she’s dating him and you’re not.” Piper passed him the cigarette. “He’s a decent guy, though.”

“He’s  _ boring _ . And has no sense of humor, he’s an anxious mess, he’s kind of an asshole-”

“ _ He’s _ kind of an asshole?” Piper smirked. MacCready glared at her.

“Okay then, little miss paper girl,” He returned the cigarette, “What do you think should I do?”

“I think if you have a  _ serious _ objection to the way Simon treats Lilith, then you should talk to her about it. But otherwise, let her make her own decisions. She’s a grown woman.”

MacCready let out a huff, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Why the sudden mood swing?” Piper asked after another moment. She dropped the butt of the cigarette and ground it into the pavement with her boot. “You were okay with it up until-”

Piper’s sentence trailed off as the dots connected. The heart eyes he was giving Lilith when she wasn’t looking. The sudden shift in his tolerance of her relationship with Simon, and the mechanic himself. The questioning of Simon’s virtues, most likely compared against his own…

“You’re in love with Lily,” Piper murmured, her eyes widening.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” MacCready shot back immediately.

“MacCready, I’m a reporter, remember?” Piper set her hands on her hips, “I’d like to think I’m pretty insightful.”

“Well, you’re wrong, so maybe you’re not as proficient at reading people as you think,” The rifleman retorted, his tone growing more and more defensive.

“Okay, so turning down Cait way back when at Fort Hagan had nothing to do with Lily,” Piper raised an eyebrow, “Come to think of it, you skipped out on a few moments of ‘quality time’ with our favourite fighting redhead to stare longingly at Lil-”

“Cait and I were a one night stand! I didn’t want her, you know, catching feelings, or making me her go-to.”

“Funny you mention that, ‘catching feelings’ from a one-night stand,” The reporter kept the pointed statements coming, “Because Lily told Rhiannon and I back when we first stayed in the Rexford that the two of you-”

“It wasn’t.” MacCready took a deep breath and pulled off his hat, running a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t one night.”

“Sounds like the two of you got on like a mirelurk in a mud puddle,” Piper smirked, “And you mean to tell me that  _ neither _ of you caught feelings?”

“I-” MacCready sighed. “Look, what happened happened. It’s our business, not the paper’s.”

“The pa- This has  _ nothing _ to do with the paper!” Piper was clearly taken aback, almost offended by the insinuation, “Look, off the record? I’m  _ worried  _ about you. If you’ve got your head in the clouds when you go into the Glowing Sea, you’re gonna get hurt, or worse.”

“Lily fell in love with me, alright?!” MacCready snapped. “And I turned her down, and I told her it wouldn’t work, and then she kept dating these fff-friggin’ jerks, and now she’s dating another one!”

“But Simon hasn’t done anything to hurt anyone, aside from  _ maybe _ wasting our ammo with his terrible aim,” Piper countered, “Like I said, Lilith’s a grown woman. If she’s dated her fair share of jerks, don’t you think she’d be good at spotting them by now?”

“Or she’s terrible at spotting them and  _ that’s _ why she keeps dating them!”

“Okay, what has Simon done?”

“He just- he’s- he doesn’t- he doesn’t  _ get _ her.”

“And  _ you  _ do.”

“Well, yeah! She’s my partner, my best friend!”

“And you turned her down when she confessed her feelings for you,” Piper crossed her arms, “Why?”

“I wasn’t ready. For... for anything serious.”

“Okay,” Piper responded, her voice softening a little, “Look, I can respect that. But listen, ‘Cready… you gotta stop lying to yourself. You’re gonna end up hurting Lily, and the longer this goes on, the more it’ll hurt. You can’t move on or move forward without-”

“And what if she says no? You don’t think that’s gonna hurt?”

“Of  _ course  _ it will,” Piper put a hand on MacCready’s shoulder, “But the longer you shake this bottle of cola, the bigger mess it’ll make when it pops.”

‘So, what? You want me to run down to the Dugout and confess my feelings or something?”

“I mean… that may  _ not _ be the best approach…” Piper muttered, “But you should talk to Lilith about what’s going on in that thick head of your’s. Getting it off your chest, whether she says yes or no, will help.”

“Yeah, fine. I’ll... talk to her.  _ After _ dinner.”

* * *

“Friends! It is good to see you again!” Vadim greeted Simon and Lily with open arms and a smile so wide it threatened to split his face in two.

“Vadim!” Lilith grinned back at the bartender, arm in arm with Simon. “Get tied up in any more warehouses lately?”

“Ha!” Vadim laughed, “No, I have cut ties with all those sorts of people. What can I get for you?”

“I’d like something with Radstag in it,” Simon shrugged, “And just a can of water with it… no funny business.”

“Roasted Radroach and a glass of Bobrov’s Best.”

Vadim let out another bark of laughter, “At least  _ someone  _ appreciates-”

“Vadim…” Yefim sighed, interrupting his brother before turning to Simon and Lily, “Thank you again for bringing my brother back.”

“No problem,” Simon nodded, “Also, we’ll have to get some rooms while we’re here… Lil, is MacCready getting a room here, or staying with Piper again?”

“I dunno. We’ll check in with him after we eat.” Lilith slid into a barstool.

“One room for now… hold another just in case.” Simon passed a bundle of caps over to Yefim.

“Not a problem, we’ll let you know if there’s a vacancy problem.” Yefim pulled a key from behind the bar, “Your room is number three.”

“Room three has best soundproofing,” Vadim winked at the couple, “Something I’m sure everyone else will appreciate tonight.”

“You mean you  _ don’t  _ want to hear Simon saying my name all night?” Lily grinned back.

“… _ I _ don’t want Vadim to be hearing that…” Simon muttered, pulling his cap down over his face a little as the bartender laughed heartily.

“We’ll have your food coming right away, on the house! Is least I can do.”

“Thanks, Vadim.” Lily giggled, rubbing Simon’s back.

As Vadim slipped away to pass the order on to the kitchen and banter with other patrons, Simon let out a contented sigh.

“That feels good.”

“Yeah?” Lilith smiled, continuing the gentle circles of her hand. “Got a lot of tension, sugar?”

“Lily…” Simon rolled his eyes, “You  _ know  _ I’m an anxious mess  _ all the time _ , of  _ course _ I’m tense.”

“You need to relax.” Lilith leaned over to trail a few kisses up his neck. “I know it’s not that simple, but I can help.”

“You are helping,” Simon smiled over, “Just… something as simple as rubbing my back. It helps.”

“If I rub your shoulders next time we get in a fight, you think you’ll be able to shoot straight?”

“Har-de-har, so hilarious,” Simon deadpanned, putting an arm around Lily’s shoulder and pulling her closer.

“You’re my favorite and you know it,” Lilith laughed, kissing his cheek.

“ _ I’m _ your favourite?” Simon raised an eyebrow, “What about Dogmeat?”

“You’re right. You’re my second favorite.”

“What about MacCready?”

“Mmm…” Lilith thought for a moment. “Still my second favorite.”

“So it’s Dogmeat, me, then MacCready?”

“Oh, no, wait. Dogmeat,  _ Percy _ , then you, then MacCready.”

“Seriously?” Simon asked in faux anger, “You’re gonna put my  _ robot  _ over me?”

“Percy cooked me dinner.” Lilith shrugged.

“So, you’ll bump me up to second place if I cook you dinner?”

“I’ll bump you up to second if you give me a kiss.”

With a smirk, Simon leaned in and pressed his lips against Lily’s, “Boom. Second to the dog.”

“Not sure there’s anything you can do to top Dogmeat, but you are securely in second place,” Lily confirmed.

“I’m fine with that… for now.” Simon leaned back triumphantly, careful not to tip over in his barstool.

“And let me guess, I’m... third place? After Percy and Rhiannon?” Lilith grinned.

“Bold of you to assume  _ Percy’s _ in first place. Some days I wonder if he cracks the top five.”

“Okay, after Rhiannon and  _ then _ Percy.”

“Well-”

“Here we are,” Scarlett brought forth the requested food on a platter, placing each dish and drink before the one who’d ordered it, “Roasted Radroach and a glass of Borbov’s, and Radstag Stew with some water.”

“Thanks, Scarlett,” Simon said with a nod, digging into his stew with gusto.

“Hey, how’s it going with Travis?” Lilith chimed in.

“Oh, um… I haven’t seen him lately,” Scarlett said quickly, before leaving them to their food.

“Huh.” Lilith squinted at the server’s back before turning to her dinner.

“Uhh… that doesn’t sound too good…” Simon frowned, looking up from his bowl for a moment, “Maybe you should check on Travis tomorrow while I fix Piper’s printing press.”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Lilith reached over to take Simon’s wrist, tuning his Pip Boy in to Diamond City Radio’s frequency.

_ "-sudden I bounced to a stop, at the foot of a mountain, didn't have no top. Uranium fever has done and got me down! Uranium fever is spreadin' all around!" _

“Well... can’t tell how he’s doing from that,” Lily sighed. “Yeah, I’ll stop by tomorrow.”

“Yeah…” Simon also sighed, looking around the bar and back towards the entrance, “Where’s MacCready?”

“Probably chasing skirts in the marketplace,” Lily said with a shrug.

“Mmhmm…” Simon hummed, unconvinced. Giving one last look back towards the entryway, the mechanic returned to his stew.

“You worried about him, sugar?” Lily teased, bumping Simon’s elbow with hers.

“A little, yeah,” He admitted, “He’s been acting really weird lately.”

“He has, actually.” Lily’s smile faltered, and she picked at her food. “Ever since Cait got sick.”

“Maybe you should talk to him?” Simon suggested, cracking open his can of water and taking a sip.

“Ambassador Rook, on the case,” Lilith replied sarcastically, wrinkling her nose up. “Yeah, I guess.”

Simon gave his girlfriend a kiss on the cheek, “Ambassador? More like… am- _ badass _ -ador.”

Lilith groaned, shoving Simon’s face away from hers. “That was  _ horrible _ , sugar.”

“I know…” Simon admitted, returning to his stew.

“But hey, you  _ tried _ to make a joke! That’s something.”

Before Simon could respond, a group further down the bar burst into raucous laughter. Turning in the direction of the sound, Vadim was engaged with three other men in a conversation. One of them Lily recognized immediately: the scraggy mechanic who’d challenged her at Power Noodles. Beside him was a man who looked uncannily similar, down to almost the exact same clothing. However, the second man was noticeably younger, and his beard wasn’t quite as long. The third man, with bedraggled auburn hair and a scruffy goatee, wore a dark blue mechanic’s jumpsuit and looked to be closer in age to the second than the first.

“Jesus, Mary n’ Joseph, Vadim! Fightin’ yer way outta a warehouse full’ve Raiders? Stranger things’ve happened indeed!” The eldest laughed.

“Ah, is always good to see you, Logen!” Vadim slammed his palm against the bar, “How has the mainland treated you this time, my friend?”

“Not s’bad,” Logen responded, “Reckon we’d’ve put the reg’lar meat vendor outta business if we came more than once a third-year.”

“Yep, Uncle Logen’s right on the nose. Barely a week on the mainland, and near sold out, we did,” The man’s relative added, “By tomorrow we’ll be fresh out.”

“Back on the boat an’ back to Far Harbor.”

“Aye, Lukey,” Logen nodded to the man in the jumpsuit, before slamming his hand thrice on the bar, “‘Nother round fer t’boys’n I!”

“Gettin’ crowded in here…” Simon murmured against Lily’s ear, “What do you say we… head back to our room?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” Lilith downed her shot of Bobrov’s, then slid off her stool and wrapped her arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him eagerly out of the main dining room and bar.

Once behind the cover of their door, Simon turned the lock, took hold of the lapels of Lilith’s coat, and pressed her against the wall, planting a few stray kisses along her neck and jawline before his lips finally met hers. Lilith sighed into the kiss, one hand tangling in Simon’s hair while the other began to unbutton his flannel shirt.

“Lily…” Simon breathed, pressing closer as he began to unbutton his shirt, swatting Lilith’s hand away, “One hand won’t get them undone.”

“Then why don’t you tell me what my hand _ can _ do,” Lily purred.

“Does your hand want to do anything in particular?” Simon asked as the last button was undone, and the mechanic slipped out of his shirt effortlessly, “If not… I have a few suggestions.”

“Tell me what you want, sugar,” Lily answered immediately, running her fingers over his chest.

“I want you,” Simon replied, planting a single kiss on the mercenary’s neck, “I want you to get out of those clothes and on your knees. I want you to suck my cock and swallow what comes… then we’ll go from there.”

By the time he’d finished speaking, Lilith’s breath was short, and she eagerly began to shed her clothes. Her eyes were wide with surprise, and dark with lust. “Sounds perfect.”

“I’ll let you get to it,” Simon gave her one more kiss before grabbing his discarded shirt and heading towards the bed. Undressing, the mechanic sat on the edge, his clothes in a haphazard pile on the floor.

Lilith stripped quickly where she stood by the wall. Gathering and folding her coat, she set it on the floor by the bed and knelt onto it. Her hands rested on Simon’s thighs, fingers moving in soft circles as she trailed her touch to his knees.

“Lilith,” Simon breathed, shifting almost impatiently, “Please.”

At that, Lilith leaned forward, spreading his legs and planting a kiss to each leg before slowly dragging her lips along the length of his cock, followed by her tongue. She continued to tease him for a moment more, then wrapped one hand around his base and began to take him into her mouth. She was rewarded with a breathless gasp from her lover.

“Oh… my God.”

Lily took her time, gently bobbing her head and stroking her hand in time. Each movement allowed her to take more of Simon into her mouth. After a few moments of this, Lilith let out a soft moan, and her free hand moved between her own legs to soothe her own aching need.

Simon put one hand on Lilith’s shoulder and the other reached down to cup a breast, both hands beginning to massage her. Lilith let out a soft gasp, faltering for a moment before she began to eagerly suck Simon’s cock, her cheeks hollowing.

“Oh my… Lily, holy shh-” Simon gasped, “Holy shit.  _ Holy shit. _ ”

Lilith’s hips rolled into her own touch, curling her fingers within herself with each stroke, though most of her attention was on pleasuring the mechanic. She let out another moan around him, increasing her pace and looking up to watch his face.

“Lily,” The hand on the mercenary’s shoulder moved down, both hands caressing her breasts now, teasing as best he could, “Lily, I’m… I’m getting close…”

Unable to encourage him verbally, Lily pressed her tongue against him as she sucked harder, wanting nothing more than to bring Simon as much pleasure as possible. The hand that stroked him along to the bobbing of her head began to gently squeeze and release in time to the rhythm she’d set.

“Lily… Lily… Lily!”

With that, Lilith’s efforts were finally rewarded as Simon reached his climax. Pleased, Lily slowed her movements to help him ride out his orgasm, careful not to let any drop of his seed spill. Once he’d finished, she leaned back and met his gaze as she swallowed.

“Fuck, I need you, sugar,” Lily breathed once her mouth was clear.

“Do you, now?” Simon asked, his hands moving back to her shoulders, “Tell me about it. Where do you need me?”

“Everywhere,” Lily said, nearly pleading. She climbed onto his lap, her body feeling like a livewire. “Simon, please, I’m aching for you.”

“Wouldn’t it be the worst if I said ‘no’ right now?” Simon smirked, but gently maneuvered them onto the bed, settling amongst the pillows as he gently stroked his erection.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Lily huffed, straddling him. “If you want me to stop, I will.”

“I know,” Simon said sincerely, “But I don’t want you to. I want  _ you  _ right now.”

Without wasting more time, Lily lowered herself onto Simon, a breathless moan escaping her as she did.

“Fuck me ‘till you come, baby.” Simon whispered, his hands finding their way to Lilith’s hips. She obliged immediately, setting a quick, hard pace and fully savoring it, releasing a long moan.

“Fuck, Simon, you’re the best,” Lily gasped, her hands resting on his shoulders to steady herself.

Simon paused, “Wait,  _ really _ ?”

“Yes,” Lilith replied emphatically, before leaning down to kiss him. Simon kissed back eagerly, a hand moving away from her hips to tangle in her hair.

“…You’re sure?”

“Best I’ve ever had,” Lily insisted, speeding up as she could feel her climax building. “You’re so good…  _ so good _ …”

Simon thrust up into Lily in time with her movements, eliciting a breathless gasp that vaguely took the shape of his name.

“God, Simon, I’m  _ so close _ ,” she whimpered, her head resting on his chest. “Harder, harder, please.”

Simon obliged, his thrusts landing harder while keeping pace with hers. Lilith let out soft little moans with each thrust, her fingernails digging into his skin as she felt herself of the precipice of her climax.

“Lily… I’m gonna come again…”

“Yes,” Lily gasped. “Oh, god, Simon, Simon, Simon… Simon!”

She cried out as her orgasm finally crashed over her, rushing through her and leaving her trembling. Feeling his second climax approach, Simon quickly and gently guided Lily onto her back, giving a few more thrusts before pulling out and leaving a few white lines across her chest.

“Wow… holy  _ shit _ , Lily…” Simon chuckled, sitting back as he caught his breath. Lilith also let out a laugh between breaths, wiping his cum from her skin and almost lazily licking it from her fingers.

“Fuck, that was amazing,” she sighed, stretching out.

Simon blinked twice, not entirely sure if Lily’s display aroused him further or not. Instead of dwelling on the thoughts, he got up and searched the drawers for a cloth, finding one after a few moments.

“Here,” He offered it to Lilith, lying down next to her. She accepted the cloth gratefully and cleaned herself off, before letting the rag fall to the floor.

“Think we could go for a few more rounds later?”

“Later for sure,” Simon let out a little laugh, “I think right now you’ve got me out of steam.”

“That’s alright, sugar.” Lilith curled up against Simon’s chest, placing a kiss to his neck. “I need to rest, too.”

A contented silence settled between the two as they lay together, Simon taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. She rested her other hand on his cheek, then brushed the hair from his eyes gently.

“I love you.”

Simon and Lily both stiffened for a moment before realizing they’d confessed in unison.

“You do?” Lilith blinked.

“ _ I  _ do?” Simon responded, “You mean  _ you  _ do?”

“Of course I do.” Lily’s surprised expression broke into a smile.

“I… you’re sure?”

“Well, if you’re giving me the chance to reconsider… Yes, I love you.”

“Wow,” Simon ran a hand through his hair, “Wow… holy shit. Fuck. Holy  _ shit _ .”

“I mean, you’re my second favorite person in the world,” Lily laughed, kissing him quickly.

“I’m sorry, I love you too,” Simon kissed back, “I’m just… y’know, I’ve been out on my own for awhile and… you’re so beautiful, and I didn’t think…”

“You make me happy,” Lily interrupted his nervous speech. “You really do, I promise.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever have this again,” Simon whispered, the hand that held his love’s tightening for a moment.

“I’m yours as long as you want me,” Lily promised.

“And  _ I’m _ yours as long as  _ you _ want  _ me _ .” Simon responded in kind.

“Then it looks like we’re stuck with each other, sugar.”

“Like glue.”

* * *

“Lily! Simon! There you are!” MacCready waved the pair over to where he sat at the bar, “You leave ahead of me and show up late? C’mon, guys…”

“Sorry, Cready,” Lily apologized. “I take it you’re slumming it here with us tonight? Piper didn’t offer her couch?”

“Didn’t wanna impose,” The rifleman shrugged, “But speaking of Piper, she wanted to ask you about something for a story? I wasn’t really paying attention to be honest.”

“Me?” Lily looked surprised. “Uh... okay, I’ll head over there with Simon in the morning.”

“Or-” MacCready paused to take a sip of his beer, “Or you could head out now, and get it over with. I’ll babysit Simon for ya.”

Lilith looked uncertain, but glanced at Simon, her hand still held in his. “That okay with you, sugar?”

“I… yeah,” Simon said after a moment, “I’m okay to hang out here.”

“I’ll be back before you have the chance to miss me.” Lily pulled Simon into a kiss much deeper than a simple farewell warranted, then headed out to find the reporter. After a moment of standing stunned, the mechanic sat down beside the rifleman.

MacCready scoffed, sliding one of the shots on the bar over to Simon. “She kiss you like that every time you two part ways for more than two seconds?”

“I… no?” Simon responded, looking down at the shot before him, “What’s this?”

“Vadim says he’s trying out something new.” MacCready knocked back the shot in his glass, grimacing. “Not bad, once you get past the burning. He gave me an extra on the house for showin’ up alone.”

“Oh.” Simon blinked down at the drink, “Well, I can’t handle his usual so…”

“I’m trying to be nice to you,” MacCready deadpanned. “Just take the damn shot.”

Simon sighed, gingerly lifting the shot and looking at the liquid through the light for a moment. Before he could overthink it, he downed the shot, immediately falling into a coughing fit, “Holy-”

“I told you it burned.” MacCready smirked. “Vadim! Two more or whatever that was.”

“Not a problem MacCready!” Vadim waved, sliding another pair of shots down the line. Simon stared at the drinks, barely recovered from the first one.

“Bottoms up, right, Simon?” MacCready held up his shot to the mechanic.

“R-right.” Simon lifted his, clinking the glasses and downing his shot. As before, Simon coughed violently, pounding his chest.

“Here, another one,” MacCready dropped another shot in front of Simon.

“N-nah man,” Simon responded hoarsely, “I… think I’m good.”

“Come on, don’t be a wuss,” MacCready encouraged, holding up three fingers for Vadim.

“Al-alright,” Simon conceded, hesitating for a moment before the next shot went down the hatch. Three more shots were placed on the bar, and MacCready slid two of them in front of Simon, taking one for himself.

“You can do better than three, Lopez.”

* * *

When Lily returned from her talk with Piper- who seemed puzzled by her arrival, but listened patiently and eventually intently to the story of Lilith’s Mothman sighting- she headed for the bar where she could see MacCready sitting and sipping a can of water.

“Hey, where’s Simon?”

“He’s on your four-thirty.” MacCready gestured with his thumb over to the sitting area, where Simon lay overturned on one of the couches near the Port-A-Diner.

“Is he okay?” Lily took a step towards him, concerned.

“He can  _ not  _ handle his liquor,” MacCready commented, taking another sip, “But he’ll live.”

“Jesus, MacCready,” Lily huffed, “What is wrong with you?”

“He’ll be  _ fine  _ Lily,” MacCready got up from his seat, “He just needs to sleep it off!”

“Why’re y’closed?” Simon mumbled, crawling towards the Port-A-Diner and weakly slapping the glass, “Why’ve y’closed y’doors t’the public?”

“Oh my god.” Lilith pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m taking him to bed.”

“Don’t worry about it Lily, I got him into that mess, I’ll get him into bed,” MacCready took her shoulder and guided the mercenary back towards the bar, “Sit down and have a few drinks. I’ll put Simon to bed and all cozied up, and be right back.”

Reluctantly, Lily sank into a seat at the bar, crossing her arms and watching as MacCready gently coaxed Simon towards the hallway.

“But… I wanna pie…” Simon slurred.

“Yup, ‘course ya do, buddy. Let’s get you a bucket and get you in bed.” MacCready sighed, slinging an arm around the mechanic’s shoulder and guiding him towards room three.

Lily watched them go, nervously chewing on her thumbnail and hoping MacCready wasn’t just going to dump Simon inside on the floor.

“‘Ey, I knows ya!” A voice called from down the bar, “Ey, boys, that’s’a girl who said ‘er boyfriend’d fix the noodle bot without gettin’ plucked by DCS!”

Lily glanced over her shoulder, spotting the three men from earlier, including the one she’d spoken with. She gave a small, half-hearted wave.

“See now, y’need t’git yerself a girl like  _ that _ Garrett,” Logen clapped his nephew on the back, “She got ‘bout as much balls as’a Harborman.”

“Uncle Logen, she’s  _ with  _ somebody already.” The young man rolled his eyes behind his glasses, adjusting the flyhooked bucket hat he wore on his head, “I ain’t about t’fuck around with some other man’s girl, ‘specially given my curse.”

“Pump the brakes,” Lukey deadpanned, “There ain’t no  _ curse  _ on you Garrett, that’s a bigger load’a bull than that shit ‘bout McDonough being a Synth.”

“Yeah, tell that to-”

“I’m back,” MacCready slipped into the chair between Lily and the arguing trio of Harbormen, “He’s in the recovery position with a bucket right by the bed.”

“What the hell was he getting so drunk for?” Lily asked, happy to not be the topic of conversation.

“Well, I got him a shot to be friendly, and then things kinda got out of control… you know how Vadim is.” MacCready shrugged.

“How  _ Vadim _ is,” Lily repeated. She sighed, deciding to let it go for now. “Fine. Look, Cready... for real, are you feeling okay?”

“Why do you ask?” MacCready asked, the hand that reached for his can of water freezing in place for a moment.

“It’s just... ever since we got that letter from Hancock you’ve seemed... I don’t know,  _ off _ ?”

“The letter. Right. That.” MacCready slowly brought the can of water to his lips for a long drink, “I… I dunno, Rook, I just… I mean, you  _ know  _ there’s nothing between me and Cait, right?”

“Well, duh,” Lily replied with a small smile. “Doesn’t mean you weren’t scared for her. Doesn’t mean it didn’t rattle you.”

“Yeah, but like, that letter… I…” MacCready’s fingers drummed rapidly against the can, “I… I dunno, started to think about… you, and… Duncan… and…”  

MacCready suddenly took Lily’s hand in his, “What if we just  _ go _ ?”

“What?” Lily looked puzzled, glancing between their hands and his face.

“You and me, like old times. Just… going for the caps. We can ditch this whole…  _ Minuteman _ thing and start making  _ real _ money again.”

“But... Rhiannon’s son. We promised to help her find him.”

“But  _ my  _ son,” MacCready almost pleaded, “I…”

“And you want us to ditch Piper, Simon, Dogmeat? Cready, they  _ need _ us.”

“But  _ I  _ need you!”

“What?” Lily pulled her hand away.

“I…” MacCready swallowed hard, blinking for a moment, “I’m in love with you, Lil.”

“You-” Lilith stared back at MacCready, feeling like she’d turned to ice. “N-no, you- you can’t be, that’s- no.”

“I… I am.” MacCready blinked again, and Lily could almost see  _ tears  _ in the rifleman’s eyes, “When we danced at the detective agency… before the letter… that was when I knew… but then we could’ve lost Cait and…”

“Robert.” Lily stopped him, getting to her feet. Her voice broke as she continued, “I’m sorry, I... I’m with Simon.”

“You  _ just met him _ !” MacCready snapped, standing as well, “Jesus, Rook, it’s that goddamn caravan hand all over again! We’ve been working together for  _ years _ , I know you better than anyone else!”

“And? We’re not married, MacCready! I loved you, once, and you told me you couldn’t see us together. I moved on.”

“I was still  _ mourning _ ! I don’t have the same benefit as Rhiannon, who got to see her ex, realize how much of a dickhead he was, and get closure! I had to watch Lucy  _ die _ !”

“I get that, and I’m glad you’re moving on. I really am. But so am I, and you don’t get to just pick people up and put them down when it suits you and your emotional journey. I thought you were the best thing to ever happen to me. I thought you were my soulmate. And you told me I was wrong. So forgive me for finding someone else who loves me at a time that’s real inconvenient for you.”

“Maybe we  _ are  _ soulmates, and I just realized it, I dunno,” MacCready was slipping out of anger and into bargaining, tears escaping and rolling down his cheeks, “Lily,  _ please _ , we can-”

“I’m in love with Simon,” Lilith interrupted, speaking as clearly as she could. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah?” MacCready frowned, wiping his eye with the back of his hand, “Yeah, we’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Simon loves me,” Lily snapped, growing defensive. “And it’s not our fault you only just now got your shit together. I need to go and make sure he’s okay. Goodnight, MacCready.”

With that, she turned on her heel and stormed off down the hall, the door to her room shutting loudly in her wake. MacCready sat back down at the bar, head in his hands.

“‘Ey. Greencap.”

MacCready looked up to see a collection of bearded men had gathered around him.

“Heard the tilly y’had with t’girlie,” Logen set down a faded bottle of old black rum, “Drinks’r on us, kid.”

* * *

**March 5th, 2288.**

_ “It's all over, but the crying… and nobody's crying but me… Friends all over know I'm trying… to forget about how much I care for you…” _

Despite the clock on the wall reminding her it was well past midnight, Piper was still furiously typing on her terminal, drafting her article on the Minuteman’s recent acquisition of artillery guns. Beside her, Diamond City Radio played a soft song that pulled the reporter towards sleep, but with a soft slap to her cheek and a sip of Nuka Cola, she was back to work.

_ Thud, thud, thud! _

“Oh, for crying out loud…” Piper threw her hands up in the air and pulled on her coat, “Who the…”

_ Thud, thud, thud! _

“I’m coming,” Piper grumbled mostly to herself as she descended the stairs and threw open the door, “Listen asshole-”

On the other side of the door stood MacCready, in an absolutely  _ disastrous _ state. Stone drunk, disheveled, looking as if he’d spent  _ hours  _ crying…

“Oh my God,” Piper gasped, “What happened?”

“She said… she said…” MacCready nearly choked on his words before all but falling into her arms, sobbing. Unsure what to do or say, Piper gave MacCready’s back two gentle pats.

“Okay, um... come sit down?”

“Piper?” Nat’s voice sleepily called from where she slept, “Who is it?”

“Just a friend, Nat,” Piper called back. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” The younger Wright yawned. After another moment of shuffling, there was a click and some light classical music drifted from Nat’s space.

“Lucky me she’s tired, otherwise she’d have a witty comment on tap,” Piper sighed, seating MacCready on the couch, “So, what happened?”

“I…” MacCready’s head fell back against the couch, “I told her… n’ she said no.”

“Oh boy.” Piper sighed. “That’s rough, buddy.”

“Ffffffffrickin’ prick…” MacCready seemed on the tip of a curse, but despite being drunk managed to reel it back, “T’hell with Simon… if he didn’t jus’ waltz in an’ sweep her off her feet…”

“But he did,” Piper said, “So what are you going to do now?”

MacCready blinked, his stance slowly straightening as he struggled to get to his feet, “I’m… I’m gonna friggin’ kill ‘im.”

“No. No, wrong answer.” Piper grabbed MacCready’s arm and pulled him back onto the couch. The rifleman crumpled back to his seat immediately.

“But… ‘f he’s  _ gone  _ then-”

“Then Lily’s going to resent you as long as she lives,” Piper said sternly.

“Ohhh my God… you’re right,” MacCready’s mouth dropped open, “I’m… I can’t believe I’s gonna kill Simon. Who  _ does _ that?”

“Good question,” Piper sighed, patting his knee. “So, since you’re  _ not _ going to kill Simon, you’re going to have to… you know… live with this.”

“How?”

“That’s up to you.” The reporter shrugged. “But... you said you love Lily, right?”

“Yeah…” MacCready nodded sadly.

“Then let her try and be happy.”

“But what ‘bout me?” MacCready asked, “Why don’t  _ I  _ get to be happy? Friggin Simon an’ his stupid hat… ‘He’s sweet, and funny.’”

“You’re pretty funny too, you know,” Piper said, a teasing tone entering her voice as she continued, “Not so sure about ‘sweet,’ but you’re loyal, you’re good at what you do, and you’re not too hard on the eyes. In the right light.”

“That’s…” MacCready blinked, “That’s t’nicest thing anybody ever said to me…”

“Yikes.”

“You’re so nice…” MacCready’s words had carried a slur since he’d knocked on her door, but now it was getting harder and harder for Piper to tell exactly what the man was saying. In fact, she was so focused on trying to figure out what the mercenary was saying, she didn’t notice he was slowly leaning towards her.

“Uhhh… MacCready?”

However, MacCready’s path took a sudden turn, the rifleman teetering over and collapsing to the floor. Moments later, soft snoring joined the two radios playing to form the background noise of the late night.

Piper rubbed at her eyes, deciding it was definitely time to go to bed... right after she figured out where the hell to put MacCready.

* * *

Opening his eyes slowly, blinking several times, Simon finally awoke with a splitting headache. He could feel a hand on his back- Lily’s, no doubt- rubbing gentle circles. Out of the corner of his eye, the mechanic could see a metal bucket placed beside the bed, thankfully empty.

“Morning…” Simon groaned.

“Morning, sugar,” Lily murmured back, careful to keep her voice low. “How’re you feeling?”

“My head hurts. I’m hungry. And thirsty.” Simon didn’t dare move, lest the swimming in his head get worse, “What happened?”

“Cready thought it would be funny to get you drunk,” Lilith sighed, leaning over him to grab a can of purified water from the bedside table. “Here, drink this and I’ll go get you some breakfast.”

“Okay…” The mechanic slowly shifted, trying to prop his back against the nearest flat surface so he could sit upright and drink. After a few moments, and with Lily’s help, Simon was successful, and slowly sipped from his can.

“Want some stew? Or maybe I can get Vadim to make some omelets?” Lily rubbed at her eyes, half of her words spoken through a yawn.

“I wanna stew,” Simon confirmed, his eyes half-closed as he held onto the can of water like a lifeline.

“Mmkay, I’ll be right back.” Lilith crawled out of bed and headed out into the dining area, leaving Simon to collect himself.

In her absence, Simon attempted to probe through the haze in his mind and piece together at least  _ some  _ of the events of the previous night. He could remember taking shots with MacCready… passionately telling Yefim that he was a good friend… attempting to break into the Port-A-Diner… and that was about it. By the time that Lily returned, the mechanic was halfway through his can of water, and if nothing else, more awake.

“Here, babe,” Lily murmured, offering a bowl of Radstag stew and another can of water.

“Thanks, sugar,” Simon responded, borrowing her pet name for a moment as he accepted the food. Blinking the bleariness away, Simon suddenly realized that Lily looked fairly ragged, dark circles under her eyes… as if she hadn’t slept for a second last night. Maybe even spent some of it crying.

“What’s wrong?” He asked as she climbed back into bed beside him.

“Hmm? Nothing, I’m right as rain. Just couldn’t sleep.”

“Why not?” Simon asked, taking the first bite of his stew. Perhaps it was the hangover, but it was the best stew he’d ever tasted… at least for the Dugout.

Lilith didn’t respond, merely wrapped an arm around Simon and buried her face against his side. Simon took a few more spoonfuls of stew before speaking up again.

“Lily… what happened?”

“Apparently MacCready’s in love with me now.”

Simon paused, “He what now?”

“He asked me to... fuck, to run away with him, I guess? Told me he loves me and… I told him he was too late.”

“Oh.” Simon looked down into his stew, “Are… are  _ you _ okay?”

“Not really,” she finally admitted.

Simon set the bowl aside and wrapped his arms around Lily, resting his head against hers, “So… so what are you going to do?”

“I dunno.” Lilith pressed closer to him. “He was pretty pissed. Said we weren’t going to last, that I was rushing into things...”

“Shh…” Simon pressed his lips to her head, “He’s… he’s hurt. People say things when they’re hurt. But do  _ you  _ think we’re rushing things?”

“No. Maybe? No?” Lily sighed. “I don’t feel like we are, but… maybe he’s right?”

“Hey… it’s okay,” Simon held her a little tighter, “We can take this at whatever speed you’re alright with. And… I’m not worried about what MacCready  _ says _ . But if he  _ does  _ anything… then we’ll have a problem. He can talk all he wants… he’s hurt, and jealous, and heartbroken. I feel for him, I do, but I hope he lets it go instead of being bitter, and sooner than later.”

“Well, he’s not great at getting over shit,” Lily muttered, burying her face against Simon’s neck.

“I know… well… actually I don’t, but… y’know what I mean.”

Lilith was quiet for another long moment, before yawning again. “You promised to help Piper today.”

“I will,” Simon nodded, “But I still got an ugly headache, and you haven’t slept. It can wait until after noon.”

“Okay,” she relented quietly, too tired to argue with him.

“Lie down, now,” Simon whispered, “I’ll finish my stew, set myself an alarm and be right by your side in ten minutes or less.”

Nodding, Lilith lay back down, her limbs heavy with exhaustion as she settled down into bed.

* * *

“Uggh…” MacCready groaned as he blinked awake, his head screaming and pounding to the rhythm of Diamond City just beyond the walls. The bed was way less comfortable than he remembered, and he could just barely hear Nat shouting at the top of her lungs about-

Wait, why was he hearing  _ Nat  _ in the Dugout? Why wasn’t she in front of Publick Occurences?

Blinking again, the surroundings slowly revealed themselves in the haze of last night’s bender. Just as he struggled to right himself on… a couch, Piper descended the stairwell from her room and office.

“Wakey, wakey, sunshine,” Piper greeted as she could see MacCready stirring. “How do you feel today?”

“Like a Super Mutant used my head as a drum…” The mercenary groaned, slowly finding a semi-comfortable position with an arm draped over the arm of the couch, “I… think that’s the drunkest I’ve ever been. I can’t remember  _ anything  _ after Lily… stormed off.”

“Well, lucky for you, I’m a gracious host. There’re noodles and cola for you on your left.”

Turning over to the indicated direction, MacCready saw what Pre-War folk would’ve referred to as a TV tray, set up beside the couch. Sitting properly upright, he reached for the Nuka Cola first, carefully opening the bottle and taking a few sips.

“Thanks, Piper. Hope I wasn’t too much of a handful.”

“Not after you passed out,” the reporter replied with a smirk. “Anyways, you should probably stay indoors for now. Simon promised to take a look at the press today.”

MacCready neary spit out a second gulp of cola upon hearing the mechanic’s name, “No, maybe I should get some fresh air, go for a walk.”

“Or maybe you should talk to him?” Piper suggested.

“About  _ what _ ?!” MacCready asked sharply, glaring at the reporter.

“About the fact that you’re in love with the same girl,” Piper snapped back in defense.

“Yeah, and what am I supposed to say?” MacCready stood up, still gripping his Nuka Cola, “Hell, what am I supposed to  _ do _ ? Just roll over and let him steal my girl? Screw that!”

“MacCready,” the reporter sighed, “To be fair, you didn’t exactly have dibs on her.”

Unable to drum up a comeback, MacCready sat back down on the couch, crossing his arms. After a moment, Piper sat down beside him, a hand resting on his shoulder.

“Look, talk to Simon. See what’s going on from his side of things. But if you both let this get between you, not only is your relationship with Lily going to strain, but it might be a distraction in the Glowing Sea.”

_ Knock, knock, knock-knock, knock. _

Before MacCready could respond, a series of knocks tapped against Piper’s door. Letting out a small sigh, Piper gave MacCready a pat on the shoulder before standing up to get the door.

“Hey, Piper,” Simon greeted as he stepped inside, “Let’s take a look at that-”

The mechanic’s voice stopped when he and MacCready locked eyes. Simon’s expression was unreadable, but MacCready’s spite was as clear as the bright blue sky. Piper stepped aside to let Simon into the room, choosing to hold her tongue for now.

“MacCready. What’s up?” Simon nodded to the mercenary, keeping a polite tone.

“Just got up.” MacCready responded, continuing to glare at the other man, “How’s your head?”

“Better with some water, stew, and rest.” Simon answered. Turning to Piper, the mechanic addressed the reporter, “Hey, Piper, can you do me a favor?”

“Sure,” Piper replied, drawing out the vowel.

“Can you run to Myrna’s and pick me up some extra tools? I lost my adjustable wrench.” Simon passed a small bag of caps over, “And you can get yourself something nice with whatever’s left.”

Piper gave the mechanic a skeptical look, not sure she wanted to leave him and MacCready alone in her home and office. “I’m sure I’ve got one of those upstairs. Let me check.”

“Sure thing,” Simon nodded, “But you can still keep the caps.”

As Piper ascended the stairs, giving the pair a couple of nervous glances along the way, Simon waited until she was out of sight before turning to MacCready.

“I’m not mad, MacCready.”

The rifleman blinked, “What?”

“I’m not mad at you. Not for getting me drunk, not for confessing to Lily,” Simon continued, “In the end, it’s her decision what to do about your feelings, whether she accepts them or not. That’s her choice. But-”

Simon leaned in closer, just in case Piper was eavesdropping, “If you hurt her… if you lay a goddamn finger on her without her permission… I will fuck you up.”

MacCready only gave a short nod in response as Piper returned from upstairs.

“Found it! Bit rusty, but I knew I had one lying around.”

“Thank you, Piper,” Simon took the wrench from her hands, adding it to his arsenal of tools as he approached the printing press.

“I’m gonna get some air,” MacCready said suddenly, “Thanks for letting me crash here Piper.”

“No problem, MacCready,” Piper gave the merc a nod, “See you later?”

“Sure you will.” MacCready winked back as he slipped out the doorway.

“Now, Miss Wright…” Simon kelt down next to the printing press, laying out his tools on the floor, “Have you been having any major problems with this old thing?”

* * *

“The mayor's office has, of course, issued a statement denying the validity of the article, saying all is well in Diamond City,” Travis reported, shuffling his papers as quietly as possible. “The mayor himself insists that the fears raised in the article are unfounded. Good to know, I guess. But between you and me, listeners? I'm going to keep my eyes open, just to be on the safe-”

_ Knock knock. _

Travis glanced over his shoulder to the door, finishing, “- side. Well, never a dull moment here at Diamond City Radio. This is Travis ‘Lonely’ Miles here, bringing you the type of news you just don't hear about every day.”

_ Knock knock knock! _

“Travis! It’s Lily!”

The DJ spoke quickly into the mic, “Coming up now, ‘Out of an Orange Colored Sky,’ by the late, great Nat King Cole.”

Switching to the music, Travis shut off his mic and made his way to the door, opening it wide to see Lilith smiling at him. She looked a bit sleep deprived, he noticed, but otherwise cheerful enough.

“Hey, Lilith,” Travis greeted, a little uncertainly. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, just thought I’d pop in, see how you’ve been holding up. How...  _ are _ you holding up?”

“Oh, not badly!” Travis replied with a shrug. “Hey, think the radio sounds better these days? I'm not getting nearly as many complaints.”

“You’ve been doing mighty fine lately,” Lilith agreed, rocking back and forth on her heels. “I saw Scarlett last night, by the way. She says she hasn’t seen you in awhile.”

“Things with Scarlett didn't really... work out. But that's fine.” The DJ shrugged again.

“Really? I thought you two got along swell. What’s with the rough waters?”

“We… decided we were better off as friends,” Travis put his hands in his pockets, “I mean, she was angry at first, but now things are better. Awkward, but better. That awkwardness’ll go away eventually, and hey, maybe we’ll be better friends for it.”

“Yeah.” A flicker of pain passed her expression. “Hey, well, good on you for being honest. I’m sure you’re gonna make someone real happy one day, Trav.”

“Thanks, Lily,” Travis smiled, giving the mercenary a pat on the arm, “For… a  _ lot _ of things.”

“Well, what are friends for?” Lilith replied. “Now I’ll let you get back to your broadcast. I just thought I’d stop in and say hello.”

“Alright,” Travis backed towards his trailer, “Thanks for stopping by, Lily.”

“See y’around.”

* * *

With the printing press repaired and running better than ever, Piper insisted on taking the group to Power Noodles to celebrate. Piper and Simon sat next to each other, Lily on the mechanic’s other side. Arriving late, MacCready hesitated before finding his seat next to the reporter.

“Nan-ni shimasho-ka?” Takahasi asked.

“Yes, Four,” Piper held us as many fingers for the protectron.

As Takahashi began to prepare the noodles for the group, Simon turned around and caught a glimpse of two of the Harbormen from the bar. The one in the navy mechanic suit stretched back in a patio chair, a beer in hand. His compatriot manned their food stand, with an array of strange meats he’d never seen before… some cooked and some uncooked. Cigarette between his lips, this man too held a bottle of beer. At the front of the stand, a big black dog lay comfortably in the shade nearby, his eyes guarded by a set of goggles.

“Oh my God,” Lily whispered, getting up from her chair. “Do you think they’ll let me pet their dog?”

“I mean… probably?” Simon shrugged.

“He looks friendly,” Piper added.

“I’m going to go pet their dog,” Lilith resolved.

Glancing around the marketplace, Piper realized they weren’t the only people to notice the Harbormen’s presence. A pair of rough-looking men, about the same age as the Harbormen started heading through the marketplace towards them, before Lilith could take a step forward. The Harbormen barely acknowledged their presence, merely watching them approach.

“Nice onesie, Ledbetter. Does it come in men's?” One of them, tall, blond, and wearing sunglasses smirked.

“Oh, I think you come in men enough for erryone,” Garrett responded rolling his eyes.

“I think you better come in my- I mean, you better come-”

Not willing to let his buddy suffer further embarrassment, the other man interrupted, “I think you better come say that to his face, you fuckin’ hicks!”

“Nice execution,” Lukey deadpanned.

“You're doin' terrific,” Garrett added dryly.

“Hey, I heard about your break-up, buddy.” The second man, wearing a letterman’s jacket and a baseball cap nodded towards Garrett.

“She was your girl for… three years, right?” The blond asked, putting a hand to his chin in mock thought.

“Your schoolhouse sweetie, right?” The ballcapped man asked.

“What's it to ya?” Garrett asked, clearly irritated, though his voice remained fairly flat.

“Heard she cheated on you while you were at sea, buddy.”

“That's a real kick in the knackers, bro.”

“Just a real ouchie, bro.”

The pair of delinquents bounced off of each other easily, the words clearly cutting into the Harborman as he smoked his cigarette.

“It's too bad she got you not to fight anymore, buddy,” The man in sunglasses smirked before taking a sip of his beer.

“'Cause that's a  _ fight  _ on _ sight _ for you and her new guy, buddy,” The man in the letterman’s jacket added.

“Fight night for life, bro.” The blonde nodded to his friend as they bumped their fists together.

“Maybe, if you'd ever been in a real fight, you might not be so keen for another,” Garrett finally responded, glaring at the two men.

“What did you say?” The blonde man’s mouth dropped open for a moment. In a fluid motion and a flick of the wrist, Garrett’s arm shot out and back, scattering what was left of his beer onto the ground.

“You heard me.”

“Jones, Hold my beer.” The blond shoved a mostly-empty bottle into his friend’s hand, pulling off his oversized winter coat and the shirt underneath it, “Safety’s off, boys. You looking for a tilly, buddy? Let's have a fuckin’ scrap!”

“Pump the brakes.” Lukey rolled his eyes, “You take your shirt off, but leave your sunglasses on?”

“What sort of backwards  _ fuckin' _ pageantry is that?” Garrett asked.

“Do you wanna fight with those shades or play a hand of Caravan?”

“Ralphie, Hold my beer.” Jones attempted to shove the beer bottles into his friend’s hands

“Dude, I can't hold  _ your _ beer, you're holding  _ my _ beer… Just put the drinks down,” Ralph whispered over.

“Tick-tock.” Garrett tapped his wrist twice as he waited with amusement for the Diamond City delinquents to get themselves together.

Carefully setting the bottles on the ground, Jones passed his cap over to Ralphie, peeled off his letterman’s jacket, and threw them on the ground before taking back his baseball hat and returning it to his head, careful to not mess up his hair.

“Go time!” The two barked.

“Look at that fuckin'  _ disasterpiece _ .” Lukey pointed over at Jones’ chest hair, which had grown thicker and thinner in random places.

“What's up with your fuckin' body hair, big shoots? You’re patchier than a rabid rad-rat,” Garrett snarked, taking a drag from his cigarette.

“How many times you pulled your horn today, bud?” Lukey scoffed at the thugs.

“ _ What? _ ”

“Oh, she's bashful.”

“Oh, come on, kitten, I won't tell anyone,” Garrett taunted as Lukey spat off to the side, “Ball park… six to eight? You're a fuckin’ animal.”

“Play a little five on one.”

“Hit the kitchen, mix a batch.”

“Feed the crows.”

“Distribute some free literature.”

“Go time!” Ralph insisted.

“Let’s just fuckin' get 'em!” Jones slapped his compatriot in the chest with the back of his hand, gearing up for a fight.

“Hey!” A Diamond City Security officer and his partner approached the scene brandishing their Swatters, “The fuck do you two think you’re doing?! Get the fuck out of here before we put you in lockup for brawling.”

“This isn't over!” The delinquents shouted in unison, pointing at Garrett.

“Jinx, you owe me a Vim.” The Harborman deadpanned.

“…Never buy you a… fuckin’ Harbormen…”

As the would-be brawlers gathered up their clothes, Lukey spitting off into the distance one more time, the patrons of Power Noodles shared glances, Piper  _ barely _ managing to restrain her laughter. Lilith, at this point, was bouncing on her feet, but her grin had widened more and more as the exchange had progressed.

Once the two Diamond City residents had vacated the scene, the mercenary hurried over to the harbormen. “Can I pet your dog?”

“Oh, of course,” Garrett whistled for the dog, “C’mere Gus!”

The big black dog lifted his head and slowly lumbered over, his tongue lolling out as Lily ran her fingers through his fur, his tail wagging slowly.

“Well, hello, Gus!” Lilith cooed, kneeling down. “Aren’t you just the handsomest man in Diamond City? Yes, you are!”

“He’s what the Pre-War types would call a ‘Newfoundland’ dog,” Garrett informed her, grabbing a piece of meat from a small box with the dog’s name on it, “Here, give ‘em a treat. Maybe he’ll do tricks.”

“What kind of tricks does he do?” Lily asked excitedly, taking the scrap of meat.

Watching from the noodle stand, MacCready and Simon shared a glance as they ate their lunch.

“She’d kick me to the curb for a good dog without a second thought,” Simon chuckled.

“She actually once kicked me out of bed so she could cuddle with a stray mutt,” MacCready responded, a small smile on his face.

“Gus, shake hands,” Lily instructed, holding out a hand, palm up.

“Woof.” The Newfie let out a small bark as he put his paw on her hand.

“Good boy,” Lilith praised, giving him the treat.

“Are… you crying, miss?” Garrett asked, trying to get a better look at the woman’s face.

“No,” the merc replied, blinking a few times. “You’ve just got a really great dog and he’s very smart.”

“‘Ey, Garrett!” Turning, the group watched Logen, his hair and beard freshly trimmed approach from the direction of the barber, “Couldn’t ‘elp yerself, could’ja?”

“Ex-excuse me?” The Harborman asked.

“I means, innit the girlie who tried t’fix the Noodle-bot?” Logen grinned, his maw missing a few teeth, “Good’n ya fer gettin’ back in t’game!”

“I-” Garrett immediately turned red, “I’m not- I’m  _ not _ flirting, she’s got a-”

“Sure y’ain’t, kiddo,” Logen rolled his eyes, returning to his post behind the meat stand.

“Heya,” Lily greeted, finally tearing her attention from Gus. She pointed back towards the noodle stand. “That one there’s my boyfriend. He’s too chicken to try and fix the bot, but he could if he tried.”

“Pfft,” Logen scoffed with a smirk, “Sure ‘e is, and sure ‘e could.”

“Simon!” Lily called over to him, and jerked her head to indicate the mechanic should come over. Shoving the last of his noodles into his mouth, Simon approached.

“Yeah?”

“Hey, this one doesn’t believe that you can fix a broken bot.”

“Yeah,” Simon shrugged, “I don’t gotta prove anything.”

“Got’amn right, y’can’t.” Logen scoffed. Simon narrowed his eyes at the older man.

“Put something on the table and I just might prove you wrong.”

“Two hundred caps an’ a pretty penny ‘f Far Harbor’s best huntin’ verses yer failure an’ humiliation.”

“Two-fifty,” Lily interjected immediately.

“Deal.” Garrett nodded, extending his hand to shake on his uncle’s behalf. Simon met the Harborman’s hand, and headed back towards Power Noodles.

“Alright, Takahashi… let’s see what damage we can undo this afternoon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, those Harbormen are a fun bunch... I wonder when we'll see them next?


	31. In The Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon learns a little more about Nick Valentine, Cait, and herself. Preston has a sudden realization as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Managed to sneak one more in before the tour! Literally leaving in a couple hours at time of posting. We dig into Cait's backstory a little here, so if you feel we need to tag elements that we may have missed in the ungodly hours we finished this chapter, please let us know in the comments.
> 
> Chapter TW: Sexual Content, Abuse Mention
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Wolfmother.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY ONE**

**IN THE CASTLE**

* * *

**March 4th, 2288.**

From atop the Castle walls, Rhiannon and Dogmeat watched as the four dots that composed four of their friends faded further and further into the distance.

“Awoo…” Dogmeat whined, looking up at the General sadly.

“I know,” Rhiannon scratched the German Shepherd behind the ear as the four dots disappeared behind a distant building, “But they’ll be back in a few days. Promise.”

“Woof,” The dog responded, slinking off to the kitchen to beg for scraps of food. As he headed down the stairs, he passed by Preston, the Colonel making his way up to meet with Rhiannon.

“General.”

“Hey,” Rhiannon turned and smiled, “How are you, Preston?”

“I’m fine. That was, uh… some story you told us. About the Brotherhood of Steel, Maxon, and Vincent... How are _you_?”

“I…”

“You’re listening to Radio Freedom, it’s 3pm!” Thomas’ voice echoed around the Castle loudspeakers, “Nothing new to report. Stay safe out there.”

Moments later, the patriotic fiddle music resumed. Rhiannon sighed, looking between Preston and the other Minutemen patrolling the Castle.

“Come with me,” She said, quickly walking away.

In moments, Preston’s footsteps were trailing behind hers as her legs carried her down the stairs and into the fort. Rhiannon paid no attention to the goings-on around her, a single-minded goal and destination the only thing she could concentrate on. Finally, they reached the War Room. Once both of them were through the threshold, Rhiannon closed the door.

“So, what did-” Preston began, but his words died in his mouth as Rhiannon sank to the floor, silently beginning to weep. “Gen- Rhiannon?”

“I don’t want to do this,” Rhiannon sobbed, pulling her knees to her chest and hiding her face in them. “I _can’t_ do this. I only joined that stupid Brotherhood for the armor and- and-”

Preston immediately sat beside her, pulling Rhiannon against his chest and letting her cry into the front of his jacket. His hands gently rubbed up and down her arm, and he rested his chin atop her head to help her huddle close. The Minuteman was reminded starkly of the day Rhiannon had killed Kellogg, cradling her through the cathartic release of her rage and pain in the aftermath.

“I thought he was _dead_ ,” Rhiannon continued once she’d regained her voice. “And what he said to me, what he was going to say to Simon, what I heard him say so many times... And I married him anyways. I’m so stupid.”

“Rhiannon, you are anything _but_ stupid,” Preston responded firmly, moving to look her in the eye, “You are determined, strong, brave, charismatic, selfless, genuine, and inspiring… but you are _not_ stupid. You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

The General fell quiet, considering Preston’s words as she tried to hush her own hiccupping breaths.

“How the hell am I supposed to look him in the eye now?” She finally asked. “The idea of going back to that ship, to those people...”

“I wish I knew,” Preston sighed, his shoulders sinking a little, “But you’re not the same woman who stepped into Vault 111. You’ve grown, far more than he could hope to. You don’t have to be afraid of him anymore, you’re stronger than him. You don’t have to take any more of his bullshit ever again.”

“But the Brotherhood,” Rhiannon protested. “I don’t _want_ to work with them, but now I have to, and he’s a part of that world.”

“I know,” Preston gently stroked the General’s hair, “But… as Simon would probably say… keeping an eye on them is a good thing. You can try to warn us if they’re up to something. But we’ll figure out some way to get you out of there. I promise.”

“Maybe we can tell them I died in the Glowing Sea?” Rhiannon managed to crack a smile.

“Please don’t joke about that,” Preston frowned slightly, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“If _you_ lost me?” Rhiannon’s smile widened, and she purposefully snuggled closer to the Colonel.

“I mean… I don’t know what _we_ would… you know what I mean.” Preston flushed, and he instinctively pulled his hat a little lower over his face.

“I know.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’ll be coming back, I swear. And then we’ll know how to find Shaun.”

“And we _will_ find him,” Preston promised, resting his hand over hers, “And we _will_ rescue him. I promise.”

* * *

After Rhiannon had pulled herself back together, she and Preston had headed their separate ways, agreeing to meet after dinner and hash out some real plans. While Preston headed off towards where they were rebuilding the armory, Rhiannon found herself lingering in the courtyard, watching as Ronnie ran a few troops through target practice.

“Is that the best you can do?!’ She barked at the recruits, “My _grandmother_ can shoot better than you lot, and she’s _dead_!”

Rhiannon shook her head, but smiled in spite of herself. Ronnie was a hell of a lot stricter than herself and Preston, but she was effective, and certainly colorful. As she observed, the General heard footsteps approaching, and then a familiar figure in a trench coat made his way to her side.

“Do you have time to talk?” Valentine asked, his voice low.

“Yeah.” As soon as she answered, the Synth nodded for her to follow, and soon enough Rhiannon found herself back in the War Room. Remembering her own reasons for retreating here, and concerned by the Synth’s tone of voice, she spoke up once the doors shut.

“Is something the matter? You sound upset.”

“What? Oh, no, no…” Nick said quickly, “We’ve just been travelling for awhile now, and I figured there hasn’t exactly been equitably distribution of information. I’ve gotten a glimpse into your dirty laundry, but you still don’t really know a heck of a lot about me.”

“I mean, I suppose that’s true,” she said, gesturing for Valentine to join her at the table.

“I’d figured I’d offer to balance the board,” Nick continued as they took their seats beside one another, “So… is there anything you want to know?”

“What’s… with the outfit?” Rhiannon asked with a teasing smile. “You seem kind of adamant about it.”

“After I started the agency, it just seemed the sort of thing a detective oughta wear.” Nick shrugged, “I got some old memories, Pre-War, faded all to heck and back, of guys dressed like this, doing what I do. Puttin’ on the hat and trench coat… I figured it let people know I was _serious_ about the whole thing. ‘Clothes make the man,’ and all that. Guess I felt they made me the man I wanted to be.”

“Memories?” Rhiannon frowned, confused. “So… who are you, Nick?”

“That’s a question I’ve been trying to figure out myself for a _long damn time_ …” Valentine sighed, reaching into his coat for a cigarette. “I know I’m a Synth, authentic Institute handiwork, but I’m still mechanical… not bioengineered like the fancy Synths giving everyone the willies these days. I get tune-ups now instead of check-ups.

“But my memories, my personality, they’re all lifted from some cop who volunteered for an experiment back before the War. They scanned his brain and copied it onto the hardware that runs between my ears. Don’t know _why_ they decided to make a robot based on some Pre-War cop instead of a math genius or a bioengineer… but hey, maybe that’s why the Institute tossed me in the garbage instead of turning me into one of their people-snatchers.”

“Wait, _what_ ?! You’re a _robot_ ?!” Rhiannon gasped, a hand lifting to her chest in mock distress. “What _else_ have you been keeping from me?”

“Well, I’m not sure if someone told you, but there’s been a War,” Nick snarked in response, “Nothing big… I’m sure we’ll bounce back just fine.”

“You sure you were a cop and not a comedian?”

“I’m sure. I remember waking up in a garbage heap, a body in tatters, and a head full of memories belonging to a man who’d been dead for two hundred years… Suffice to say, it was a confusing couple of weeks. Folks didn’t know much about Synths back then, so when I finally ran into people, they treated me with caution rather than hostility… but the kids… _they_ weren’t afraid.”

Nick took a drag from his cigarette before musing, “I think his name was Jim… The first person to actually speak to me after I got the boot from the Institute. My first human contact in this world. Grilled me for an hour… once they’d seen I wasn’t going to hurt anyone, the other folks in the neighborhood came out to oogle the mechanical man. It eventually turned into a pretty swell soiree… the local mechanic even gave me a once-over, free of charge.

“Those people… they treated me like a human being… I’ve been trying to return the favor ever since. It’s a surprisingly rare trait out here sometimes. Something I’ve noticed you’ve got a fondness for. Part of the reason I’ve stuck around this long.”

“Where’s that town?” Rhiannon asked, trying not to let the compliment make her flush, “We should go back and visit.”

“I tried to go back and say thanks once I got myself established… but the place was wiped off the map… _Raiders_.” Valentine scowled, “Don’t know what happened to the people.”

“Fucking raiders,” Rhiannon muttered, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, Nick.”

“That’s an unfortunate reality of life in the Post-Apocalyptic America…” Valentine breathed out a trail of smoke, “Some people are just monsters… and then some people, like you, take the fight right to the boogeyman itself.”

“I just do what’s needed.” Rhiannon shrugged.

“Well, you certainly seem to judge ‘doing good’ pretty high on your list of necessities,” Nick observed. He finished his cigarette and dumped it into the ashray in the middle of the table. “Well, I expect you’re about as bored as can be listening to me rattle my skeletons.”

“No, it’s… it’s good. I guess I didn’t realize how little I knew about you.”

“Well, I’m not one for prattling on about myself,” Valentine chuckled. His mechanical hand drummed against the table absently, until the fingers spasmed.

“Hey, I noticed your hand starting to twitch back in Goodneighbor,” Rhiannon mentioned as carefully as she could. “Maybe we should’ve had Simon take a look at that before he left.”

“Maybe. He said he was coming-coming b-ba-a-a-ack t-t-t-tomo-” Nick’s speech began to stutter, the lights in his eyes flickering before they glowed a low, dull orange. Before the Synth even opened his mouth again, a cold weight had already settled into Rhiannon’s stomach, dread rising in her chest and threatening to drown her.

“On the contrary,” Kellogg’s low voice grated out of Nick’s body, “I think everything’s running nice and smooth, Mrs. DiMaggio.”

Rhiannon shook her head, “No. No, you’re _dead_. This isn’t real.”

“Dead is a strong word,” Kellogg continued, smirking with Valentine’s face. The effect was more disturbing than Rhiannon had expected it to be. “I prefer the term… _incapacitated_. But not for long. See, you and your little friends may have smashed my body to bits, but then you were kind enough to upload me right into a new host. Sure, it’s a little decrepit, but once I make the place my own, I can always redecorate.”

“You leave Nick alone, you son of a bitch!” Rhiannon grabbed the Synth by the front of his clothes.

“Oh, don’t worry about ol’ Nicky Valentine. He’ll be out of here soon enough,” Kellogg continued, wearing a cruel grin that looked twice as wrong on Nick’s features.

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare!” Rhiannon cursed, shaking the Synth’s body, “You leave Nick alone, you son of a bitch! Don’t you fucking dare hurt-”

Kellogg laughed as she began her tirade, the sound crackling into static, and then Valentine’s voice once more somewhere in the middle, “-tomorrow night. We- Whoa, kid. Watch the language.”

Rhiannon blinked a few times, slowly letting go of the lapels of the detective’s trench coat and taking a couple steps backwards, “I…”

Nick’s bright yellow eyes narrowed in concern as he straightened his coat. “Handsy, too. You feeling okay, Rhiannon?”

“I… I…” The General stammered, “Are… are _you_ feeling okay?”

“Besides a few mechanical spasms, I think so. Dr. Amari probably just knocked loose a few wires when she was poking around inside my head..”

“Did... Did Dr. Amari remove that piece of Kellogg we plugged you into?”

“Yeah, just after she pulled me out…” Valentine eyed Rhiannon curiously, “But you didn’t answer my question. Are you feeling okay?”

“I... think I’m working myself a little too hard, actually,” Rhiannon admitted, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Too much stress, not enough sleep. And seeing Vinny... really rattled me. I think I need to take a day or two to sort things out.”

“Well… that might not be a bad idea,” Valentine reached into his pocket for another cigarette, “You should ask Preston and Colonel Shaw about taking over all the heavy lifting for a couple days, get yourself some rest. You barely slept today as it is.”

“Yeah, uh, I think I’m going to take a nap until dinner. It was… good to talk, Nick.” Rhiannon opened the door for the Synth to leave.

“Yeah, good to talk with you, too,” Valentine agreed, though he still looked suspicious. Rising from the table, he headed out into the hall. “See you later.”

And if his parting statement had a sinister, gravelly undertone to it, Rhiannon was certain she was simply hearing things.

* * *

Dinner felt perhaps like more of an ordeal to Rhiannon than it truly had been, but the General still wished she’d overslept. Dogmeat was shamelessly begging for scraps from anyone and everyone, Preston was treating her like she was likely to crumble like a wet cracker, Valentine kept one eye on her like she was about to need to be committed to a psych ward, a drunken Cait nearly started a fight, and Ronnie had grilled her every few minutes on the plans she’d come up with for the Minutemen.

By the time Rhiannon had been able to excuse herself from the table, she felt even more exhausted than when she’d laid down for her nap. With Dogmeat at her side, the General headed back to bed, single-mindedly determined to get some sleep.

“Jack… Nine… read me?”

Rhiannon paused, something catching the edge of her hearing. Sensing her hesitation, Dogmeat also came to a halt, his ears perking up.

“New CO… Ronnie Shaw… running drills… almost as bad as Caldwell…”

Caldwell? That was the name Piper and Nick had mentioned, she recalled. Rhiannon began to head quickly in the direction of the voice, though the source was still unclear.

“Hard to complain… my aim’s getting better… still an ornery bitch… how are things in…”

The tunnels. Rhiannon and Dogmeat hurried towards the speaker, while she drew her 10mm pistol. Hopefully she wouldn’t have cause to use it, but if this ‘Caldwell’ person turned out to be bad news, who knew what his connections were capable of.

“Sounds like a shitshow. Glad I’m not around for that,” The voice, confirmed decidedly male, grew easier to understand as Rhiannon ventured through the tunnels. After a pause, it continued, “But get this, we’ve got-”

“Yap!” Dogmeat let out a sudden yelp as his paw hit an aluminum can he hadn’t seen, sending it skidding a head of them a few inches while he leaped back in surprise.

“Shit. Call you back later.” The voice was suddenly hushed and on alert. There was a click and then assorted sounds of scuffling, scraping of stone and metal, and then a beat of silence, “Uhhh… who is it?”

Dogmeat, his ears flat against his head, gave Rhiannon what could only be described as a guilty look.

“I could ask the same thing,” Rhiannon called back. After a moment, a figure stepped out from around the corner, where Sarge had previously lay dormant.

“General DiMa- Kennedy. General _Kennedy_. Hey. Hi.” Vasco gave a nervous smile, brushing back his black hair, “Uh… what’s up?”

“Just taking an after dinner walk,” Rhiannon replied, narrowing her eyes and not hiding her gun. “Who were you talking to?”

“My _Abuela_ ,” Vasco put his hands in his pockets, “She was so proud of me for becoming a Minuteman… my brother-in-law fixed up some radios so I could keep the family updated. I make little reports to them every so often. I like to come down here for the privacy, y’know? Don’t like the idea of people listening in on family secrets and the like.”

“Sure, I get it.” Rhiannon nodded, not believing a single word, but hoping it didn’t show on her face. She holstered her gun. “That’s sweet of you, Vasco.”

“Uhh… thank you, General Kennedy,” Vasco replied, his eyes turned downward, “Sorry if… I disturbed you.”

“No, no harm done.” Rhiannon shook her head. “Why don’t we walk back together?”

“Sure. Yeah. No problem,” Vasco nodded, a little too eagerly as he straightened his clothes, “Uhh… ladies first?”

“Sure.” Rhiannon headed towards the stairs, keeping one eye on Vasco as she walked. “Say, can I ask you one more thing?”

“Uhh… okay. Shoot.”

“Who the fuck is Caldwell?”

“I-” Crawford coughed as if he’d just inhaled some dust, “I’m sorry? Coldwall?”

“Caldwell,” Rhiannon repeated. “I heard you say the name as I was coming down the steps.”

“He’s… he’s a man.” Vasco spoke slowly, nervously, “He… my family… they go back. He taught me to defend myself when I was a kid.”

“Huh.” Rhiannon’s eyes narrowed slightly again. “Well, Nick Valentine’s been looking into a Caldwell family. You two might have something to talk about while he’s here at the Castle. Maybe we can all meet tomorrow.”

“I mean… I… guess. I mean, you’re the General, so what you say goes, but… I don’t know what you’re going to… y’know, find out. I don’t really… know him all that well. He just taught me to shoot.”

“Well, your family might be able to give Nick a hand, seeing as they go back. Which settlement were you from again?”

“A little… well, it’s _barely_ a settlement, it’s just my family… but they live outside of the Commonwealth. Moved away because of Raiders… and… Super Mutants. And Synths. Y’know how it is.”

“Sure. Well, let’s have dinner tomorrow. You, me, and Nick.”

“Yes… ma’am.” Vasco saluted as they reached the top of the stairs and entered the War Room, “I should go now. This is… your bedroom. I didn’t realize… the tunnels… uhh… I should _go_.”

“Have a good night, Vasco. And the next time you chat with her, tell your Abuela that General Kennedy says ‘Hi.’”

“Yes. Of course. Absolutely. Yes ma’am.” Vasco saluted again as he backed towards the door. Turning around, the man walked face-first into the wall before making a hasty retreat.

“Grrrruff.” Dogmeat watched Crawford leave, his ears still flat and a snarl pulling at his muzzle.

“You’re right, boy,” Rhiannon agreed. “Something’s rotten in the Commonwealth.”

* * *

**March 5th, 2288.**

Preston let his hands venture over Rhiannon’s skin, his mouth open as it trailed the lines of her collarbone. He pulled her against him, pressed himself closer, deeper. His very bones ached for her, and Preston wanted nothing more than to fill his senses with her; the smell of her hair, the taste of her skin. She was intoxicating and he devoutly wished for nothing more than to drown in her. He wanted her to flood him, to fill each empty piece of him, to fill the chasms his self-loathing had carved into his soul, the way gold was once used to repair broken pottery.

With the following roll of her hips, Rhiannon sat back, her hands resting on either side of Preston’s face as she gave him her soft, affectionate smile. The morning light spilled in behind Rhiannon’s head, illuminating the flyaway strands of hair like a halo. Preston reached for her face with one hand, continuing to thrust into her as she rode him, their pace languid and unrushed. He gazed up at her, his saint, his savior.

“Rhiannon,” Preston spoke her name like a prayer, pulling her down again to kiss her deeply. He could feel the coil of heat in his stomach beginning to tighten, his release nearing. His hands found her hips, pulling her onto him harder faster, his rhythm becoming less steady as he chased his climax. Rhiannon’s lips trailed kisses to his ear, her teeth finding the lobe and worrying it for a moment before she breathed his name.

With a strangled cry, Preston came, and woke, alone in his bed and momentarily dazed. As his mind returned to him, the gorgeous, perfect dream faded away to harsh, inconvenient, and sticky reality. “Shit.”

* * *

“Excuse me, Colonel Gar-”

“I’m fine!”

The Minuteman blinked twice at her superior’s sudden outburst, “Are you… alright, sir?”

“I’m fine,” Preston repeated, in a much more calm tone.

“Oh… o...kay…” The woman took a step off to the side, “Uhh… General Kennedy sent me to- are… are you _sure_ you’re okay? Your face is very red.”

“Y-yes? What- ummm -what did the General need?”

“She asked me to retrieve the scouting report on Outpost Zimonja, but I couldn’t find it, so I was hoping _you_ knew where it was.”

“Right, yes.” Preston cleared his throat and adjusted his hat. “I believe Colonel Shaw was looking over it last.”

“Oh. Colonel Shaw. Great.” The woman’s face fell a little, “Well… okay, thank you.”

“I could bring it to Rhi- to General Kennedy for you,” Preston volunteered.

“You would? Thank you,” The Minuteman smiled, “No offence to Colonel Shaw, but she scares the shit out of me.”

“It’s not a problem,” Preston assured her, even though he was realizing it would be a very big problem. He’d been both dying to see Rhiannon and desperate to avoid her, and now he had no choice but to meet with her face to face.

“Well… good luck.” The Minuteman saluted one more time before departing.

“I’ll need it,” Preston sighed to himself, before heading off to find Ronnie. It didn’t take him long, all he had to do was follow the distant sounds of shouting. Colonel Shaw was already drilling the newer recruits; running laps under the hot sun.

“Pick up the pace!” Ronnie snapped, jogging behind a certain recruit who lagged behind the others. “Madison and Jefferson have already lapped you _twice_ ! My _grandfather_ runs faster than you, and he’s _dead_!”

“Colonel Shaw?” Preston called, as Ronnie and the harried recruit neared.

“Alright everyone, take five!” The older woman called to the running recruits. The one she’d been jogging beside promptly fell face-first into the dirt as she turned to meet Preston, “What can I do you for, Colonel Garvey?”

“I’m looking for that report on Outpost Zimonja that you had yesterday. The General’s requested it.”

“Right, I remember looking that over… cowards didn’t get close enough for a proper look at the property,” Ronnie rolled her eyes, “It should be on my desk, next to the filing cabinet in the armoury. If it’s not, then check inside the filing cabinet, I may’ve put it in there by mistake. If it’s not in either of those places, I can’t help you, sonny.”

“Thanks, Ronnie.” Preston gave her a nod and turned to leave.

“Is something _distracting_ you from protocol, Colonel Garvey?” Ronnie narrowed her eyes at her fellow Minuteman.

“Wha- oh, I’m sorry Colonel Shaw. Just... yeah, a lot on my mind.”

“Next time, you’ll drop and give me twenty.” The Colonel adjusted her beret before turning back to her recruits, “Alright, time to stop wasting daylight and get back to drills! Let’s see some sit-ups!”

As the recruits grumbled behind him, Preston hurried off to locate the file, and found it right where Ronnie had described it. And now to take it to Rhiannon. Preston felt his fingers trembling a little, but he headed back out the bastion to seek out the General.

Preston headed to the War Room first, sure that if Rhiannon was anywhere, it was likely here. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the double doors. The General called out, her exact words lost, but sounding enough like ‘come in,’ that Preston did just that, pushing open the door.

“The report you asked for General-”

“Aaaahhh!” Rhiannon shrieked, hastily grabbing a sheet off her bed to cover herself with.

“I’m sorry! You said to come in!” Preston flushed, covering his eyes with a hand.

“I said ‘just a minute!’”

“I am… _so_ sorry…” Preston shuffled towards the table, dropping the file upon it once he’d gotten close enough.

“It’s fine, you misheard me,” Rhiannon sighed, pulling on a shirt to at least mostly cover herself. “Thanks for the report.”

“Whatever you need, I’m your man,” Preston replied immediately, slowly lowering his hand from his eyes, “I mean… I… uhh… I should go.”

“Probably.” But Rhiannon smiled as she picked up the file folder. “I’ll see you later.”

“Okay, yes. Later. I will see you later.” Preston backed out of the room. Once the doors were closed behind him, the Colonel leaned against them and let out a breath he wasn’t aware he had been holding.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

* * *

The report on Outpost Zimonja, as Ronnie had indicated in red pen, was very… sparse. The scouting party didn’t get close enough to the settlement to properly gage the raider population and armaments properly, though they made note of the presence of a particular individual in power armor wielding a Fat Man nuke launcher.

Because _that’s_ what raiders needed; power armor and portable nuke launchers. Rubbing her temples, Rhiannon decided she couldn’t do much more with the report for now. What she needed was some fresh air, and a better, safer idea for how to do recon on the outpost.

To that end, the General opted to take a walk in the courtyard. The day was pleasant for early March, a warmth in the air that promised Spring.

“Ya got a second?” Cait asked, crossing the courtyard to catch up with Rhiannon, “I got somethin’ I wanna say to ya.”

“Of course, what’s on your mind?” The general nodded, slowing to a stop.

“We’ve been on and off the road together for a while, and we’ve taken some hard knocks,” Cait began, as they moved to stand closer to the wall, “But through all that crap, I’ve noticed you’ve always been stickin’ by me. Y’know, watching my back, helping me when I’m sick, makin’ sure I don’t do anythin’ _too_ stupid.”

Cait took a deep breath. “I think maybe it’s time to tell you a little bit about who you’re workin’ with. There’s no reason for us to keep actin’ like we’re strangers.”

“I appreciate your trust,” Rhiannon replied, a little surprised.

“You’re the first to earn it,” Cait answered with a small, almost bitter smile. “It all starts with two wastes of humanity I suppose you could call me parents. I’m convinced I was a mistake, because I can’t remember a _single_ moment where they treated me like their daughter. I was yelled at and beaten. Everythin’ I did was wrong. Nothin’ but a nuisance in their eyes. The whole time I was tellin’ meself that they had to love me, even if it was just the tiniest bit, because they never kicked me out.”

Cait paused, taking another breath. Rhiannon did not miss the way this one shuddered, and she gently set a hand on the Irish woman’s arm in reassurance. After a moment, Cait steadied herself enough to continue.

“Then me eighteenth birthday arrived… and I found out why they kept me around. They slapped a shock collar around me neck and sold me to slavers. They didn’t even care enough about me to say goodbye.” Cait’s voice began to raise, “Eighteen years of sufferin’ through all that shite, and all I was worth to them was a pocket full of caps!”

“Why didn’t you run away?” Rhiannon asked quietly. She was reminded of Lilith’s story for a moment, the merc’s bitter voice echoing in her memory. _‘Seven hundred and twenty nine caps.’_

“I tried… twice,” Cait replied with a helpless shrug, “The first time I did it, they locked me in a shed outside the house we lived in… the second time, they broke one of me legs.”

“My God…” Rhiannon’s mouth had gone dry, “I’m so sorry…”

“Thanks… but there’s more to the story.” Cait kicked at the wall, shaking her head slightly. “It would be easy to blame me charming personality on me parents, but they didn’t make me this way. _I_ did.”

“I was with those slavers for _five years_ . Roughest five of me goddamn life. The things they made me do… the way they used me for their amusement… it sickens me to me stomach even _thinking_ about it. But I bided me time, and learned to use their own methods against them. Stealing a few caps out of a sleepin’ man’s pocket is a piece of cake… as long as you don’t get greedy.”

“I… I can’t even _imagine_ having to go through something like that,” Rhiannon murmured, chilled just thinking about it.

“You think _that’s_ low? Just wait. The story gets much worse. It took _every_ ounce of patience I had, but after five years, I’d finally pocketed enough to buy me own way out of there. But instead of headin’ off to try and repair the shambles of me life… I gave into me rage and I headed home. You can imagine the looks on me parents faces when I kicked open their door. What you _can’t_ imagine is what they looked like _after…_ after I emptied me gun into them.”

“You _killed_ your parents?” Rhiannon’s jaw dropped.

“How could you _call_ them parents?!” Cait argued, “They were opportunists who were takin’ advantage of a human bein’ just to make some caps! If I’d come out of that _bitch_ of a mother deformed, they’d’ve drowned me in the river and started again. They didn’t give a _shite_ about _me_ , so _I_ didn’t give a shite about them! End of story!”

“Sounds like justice to me,” Rhiannon finally said, when the shock had passed.

“Was it justice… or was it murder?” Cait mused. “When I close me eyes, all I can see is their faces, twisted with fear. And then me mind starts wanderin’ and I start judgin’ meself… and it’s rippin’ me the fuck apart.”

Cait dug into a pouch on her belt and held up a Psycho syringe, the needle glinting in the light. “Y’think I inject myself with all this shite and drink myself drunk because I’m a ‘tough Irish girl?’ I do it so I can _forget_ and move on with me miserable life.”

There was a pause in which Rhiannon wasn’t sure how to react.

“So there you are.” Cait finished, “The entire flawed package known as Cait, stripped bare for your perusal.”

“Hey…” Rhiannon swallowed hard, then nodded, “I’m proud of you.”

It was Cait’s turn for her jaw to drop. After a moment, she nearly laughed. “I knew I was takin’ a chance tellin’ you all this… but I _never_ expected you to say you were _proud_ of me. I… I think I needed to hear that from you. Thank you.”

Without another word, Rhiannon pulled Cait into a quick, but firm hug. “Whatever you need, Cait, you just ask.”

“Thanks... I’ll keep that in mind.”

“General!” A Minuteman called from above them, pointing back towards the outside, “We got friendlies inbound, three of them!”

Cait broke the embrace first and gave Rhiannon a gentle shove towards the gate. “Go say hi. I’m gonna see if there’s any more of that fancy wine downstairs.”

“Take care, Cait.” Rhiannon gave the redhead a soft smile before turning to head towards where her friends approached from. The three of them looked very tense, MacCready walking a few feet behind and to the side of the other pair. They walked in complete silence, and there was the sense that it had lasted a while, long enough to have become extremely uncomfortable.

“Rhiannon!” Simon waved once they were close enough, and the mechanic jogged ahead to wrap his arms around the General.

“Hey, Simon,” Rhiannon hugged him back tightly, unable to fight the smile that pulled at her lips.

“Bark! Bark!” His frantic barking becoming louder, Dogmeat streaked from out of the Castle and into the courtyard, racing out and nearly toppling Lilith over as he leaped onto her and began excitedly licking her face. Lilith laughed, gently pushing the dog away so she could kneel down and better give him attention.

“And I’m chop liver.” MacCready sighed, walking past both pairs, “I need a drink.”

“How was Diamond City?” Rhiannon asked, stepping back.

“It was… it was a time.” Simon answered diplomatically, shoving his hands into his pockets, “Uhh… I fixed Piper’s printing press.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Rhiannon replied, squinting skeptically. “And… everything else?”

“Simon’s not allowed back in Diamond City for a little while,” Lily called over. She was currently rubbing Dogmeat’s belly, the German Shepherd happily laying on his back with one leg kicking.

“Yeah… see, these hicks from Far Harbor bet me two hundred and fifty caps and some of their local meat that I couldn’t fix Takahashi… and _apparently_ I committed some kind of ‘cultural vandalism’ and I’m banned for at _least_ a month.” Simon’s face turned a little red as he pulled a hand out of his pocket to scratch the back of his head.

“Did you fix him, though?” Rhiannon asked, trying not to laugh at the image of Security scolding her friends for trying to do repairs on the noodle bot.

“I got about halfway…” Simon frowned, “He got a few of his phrases back and can accept more commands than ‘yes,’ but…”

“Takahashi said something new to a kid as we were leaving and the kid started to cry,” Lily added with a wince.

“Yikes.” Rhiannon shook her head. “Well, after the Glowing Sea we’ll head back to Sanctuary.”

“Oh, thank God,” Simon sighed, “I need to make sure my wall is still-”

“Your… wall?” Lily asked, blinking.

“Yeah, after the Brotherhood showed up, I kinda… panicked. And built a big wall around the Red Rocket.” Simon explained, “I mean, you’re all still welcome and all, but… y’know, the wall’s to keep raiders and the like at bay.”

“Well... probably makes it easier to sleep at night,” Lily said slowly.

“It kinda does,” Simon shrugged, “And hey, I don’t have to fix Percy up as often. The turrets and walls keep raiders away from him, and hopefully they’ll keep the Brotherhood at bay when they finally decide to kill us all.”

“The Brotherhood isn’t going to kill us all.” Rhiannon rolled her eyes.

Simon paused, “I think I’ll keep my guard up, just in case.”

“Come on, sugar.” Lily got to her feet as Dogmeat finally calmed down and bounded back into the courtyard. “Let’s go put our stuff down. We didn’t miss dinner, did we?”

“No, it’s still about two hours out,” Rhiannon answered.

“Thank _God_. I missed lunch,” Lily sighed, heading inside the Castle.

As Rhiannon turned to follow, Simon caught her elbow, “How are _you_ doing?”

“I’m holding up,” she replied. “It’s good to be back with the Minutemen.”

“Yeah,” Simon sighed, watching as Lily whistled for Dogmeat to join her as she headed inside, “It sure is.”

Rhiannon felt her stomach knot as she examined the way Simon gazed after the mercenary, but why, she wasn’t entirely certain. “For real, though, is everything in Diamond City going to be okay?”

“I don’t think it’s Diamond City you have to worry about right now.” Simon turned over to the General, a small frown on his face.

“Maybe not right now, but sooner or later.”

Simon opened his mouth to reply, but quickly closed it again. After a moment of hesitation, he finally responded, “Maybe you should talk to Lily about it.”

“O...kay?” Rhiannon frowned. “Speaking of Lily, you should go put your stuff down and get ready to eat.”

Simon put one foot forward, but took a sharp turn and suddenly wrapped Rhiannon in another embrace. “I… it’s not my place to talk about it, but… a _lot_ happened.”

“I’ll talk to her,” Rhiannon promised, wrapping her arms around Simon and holding him tightly. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed the mechanic. He was warm from walking under the sun, and Rhiannon found herself strangely aware of where each of his fingers was pressed into her back. It was as she was realizing that her pulse had started to race that Simon pulled away.

“Thank you,” Simon said, his shoulders sinking ever so slightly, as if a weight was being pulled away from him, “I’ll see you at dinner, right?”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Rhiannon’s mouth had gone dry and she blinked, the fluttering feeling in her stomach accompanied by a rush of guilt.

“Alright, it’s a date,” Simon said with a small, awkward laugh, “Okay, I should… unpack.”

“Okay.” Rhiannon hoped her face wasn’t as red as it felt, as she found something interesting to stare at in the opposite direction. “See you later.”

“See you later,” Simon repeated before heading off towards the barracks. Rhiannon glanced back to watch him go, her heart pounding and plummeting all at once. Really? _Really?!_ _Now_ she was going to feel those butterflies again? Had they ever gone away? Had she simply needed the closure of letting go of Vincent before she could recognize her feelings?

This was _ridiculous!_ He had Lilith, and they had already tried and failed. Or, again, had she merely needed closure on her last relationship first? Rhiannon took a few deep breaths, and shook her head. Nope. She was not going to think about it. She was not going to think about it, and surely it would go away.

Right?

* * *

Standing outside of the War Room, Vasco Crawford paced, trying to take deep breaths. He’d been careful. He was always careful. Was it his fault? Did the stars align to create a perfect storm? Maybe it was just bad luck. Nothing’s _just_ bad luck…

Making the sign of the cross over his chest, the Minuteman took one more deep breath before opening the door. However, seeing the General, her dog, Colonel Garvey, that Synth detective, an ex-Gunner, _and_ the mercenary with the nasty baseball bat… took the air right back out of his lungs.

“Oh, Vasco,” Rhiannon greeted him with a smile and gestured to the empty chair at the table. “Right on time.”

“My _Madre_ taught me to be punctual,” Vasco stammered out before taking the seat, “But I’ll admit to standing outside for a little bit, being nervous.”

“Understandable,” Valentine replied, lighting a cigarette. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, after all.”

“So… uhh… where do we begin?” Vasco asked.

“General Kennedy tells me your family goes way back with a man by the name of Caldwell. I’ve been looking into a man with that very name. What can you tell me about him?”

“Well… what can _you_ tell _me_ about the man you’re after?” Vasco asked, “Because I don’t know if it could be the same man…”

“Even if it’s a relative, it’d be good to have your information. What does the man you know look like?”

“Well… it was about… shit, fifteen years ago?” Vasco thought, “I was ten. This guy… he was tall. Intimidating. Old, _really_ old. Big grey beard. Really pale blue eyes, like, almost _white_ pale, but he wasn’t blind. I mean… he shot too good to be blind.”

“What was his first name?” Nick asked, writing the information down without looking at the paper, his eyes fixed on Vasco’s face.

“Leonard,” The man answered, “But _la familia_ mostly called him Leo.”

“Did Leo ever mention cousins? Siblings? Nephews? Grandkids?” MacCready asked, leaning onto his elbows.

“My aunt called him ‘ _Papi_.’”

“Were you related?” MacCready’s eyebrow raised.

“Uhh… no. Not at all.” Vasco blinked, “I didn’t get it until I got older, and then-”

“Okay, yep, next question,” Preston interrupted, looking distinctly red in the cheeks.

“Did Leo ever mention a James Caldwell?” Valentine asked.

“I don’t think so,” Vasco leaned forward, putting a hand over his head and his elbow on the table, deep in thought, “He mentioned a few names… Molly, Gregor, John, and _Jamie_ , but not _James_.”

“Who was Jamie?” MacCready and Valentine asked in unison.

“She was his wife, I think,” Vasco replied, “But she’d died.”

“Did Leo have any connection to Project Purity?” Rhiannon spoke up.

“Wait,” the Minuteman blinked, “You think old Leo’s related to that ‘lone wanderer?’”

“We’re not ruling it out,” Valentine admitted.

“Why are you looking into him? He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“We’re not so sure about that,” MacCready answered. “See, the name’s started coming up again here and there.”

“Oh. Huh.” Vasco blinked, “I mean… it’s the same last name, so maybe there’s some _distant_ relation. Or it’s like the Smiths, who are fucking _everywhere_ but never related. I don’t know.”

“I have a question,” Lilith chimed in, tapping the handle of her bat. “You ever hear of a gal named Mags?”

“That… doesn’t really… what does my sister have to do with this?” Vasco blinked a few times.

“Mags is your sister?”

“Well, her real name is _Margaret_ , but we call her Mags, or Magpie, or Maggie, or-” Vasco stopped suddenly, “How do _you_ know my sister?”

“Oh, I probably don’t,” Lily replied with a shrug. “My Mags had a brother, but he was dumb as a box of rocks, and they were probably fucking.”

“That’s…” Vasco frowned, his nose wrinkling, “That’s gross. Ugh… the full Desdemona…”

“You know _Desdemona_?” Lilith blinked.

“She was my cousin, but she was fucking my _other_ cousin, so we…” Vasco trailed off, “That’s not important, but the kids of _mi familia_ have called it ‘going full Desdemona’ ever since.”

“Huh. You have a Geiger counter, Vasco?”

“No. Wish I did. It’d make life easier.”

“I know what you mean. Mine’s in the shop,” Lily continued, then shrugged. “Well, I’m good.”

“I just want to say,” Rhiannon cut in as Lilith leaned back in her chair, “You were... swearing an awful lot last night. You really talk to your grandmother like that?”

Vasco chuckled, “You haven’t heard my _Abuela_ talk. Every other word is a curse.”

“I think we’re done,” Valentine announced, shutting his notebook and extinguishing his cigarette in the ashtray. “Thanks for the help, kid.”

“No problem… uhh… sir?” Vasco blinked, looking over to Rhiannon for confirmation.

“Have a good night, Vasco,” Rhiannon said with a nod.

“You too,” The Minuteman nodded and rose from his seat, quickly retreating from the room.

“You should have brought him to me last night,” Nick said once the doors had shut. “Kid had too much time to come up with his answers.”

“You think he was lying?” Preston turned to Nick sharply.

“I think you need to keep a closer eye on him. Don’t let him think he’s gotten away. He’ll crack like an egg eventually.” Valentine tucked his notebook away into his jacket and got to his feet.

“That means ‘yes,’” Lily informed Preston, patting his shoulder as she also stood from the table.

“Lily, could you hang back for a minute, I want to talk to you about something,” Rhiannon looked over to the mercenary.

“Uh, sure.” Lilith sat back in her chair as the others began to file out. Preston lingered for a moment, but still exited after the others. Once the doors closed behind the Colonel, Rhiannon took a deep breath.

“So, it seems like your time in Diamond City didn’t go so well,” the General started.

“I mean, Takahashi will be fine.” Lilith shrugged. “We explained ourselves to security and once it all blows over-”

“Why do I get the feeling more happened than just that?”

“What do you mean?” Lily frowned.

“Well, I noticed you and MacCready sitting at opposite ends of the table, refusing to look at each other. And I noticed that he’s been acting strangely all day.”

“It’s really not a big deal. He’s just in a bad mood.”

“Lilith,” Rhiannon said firmly, “Please. What happened?”

Lily was quiet for a moment before sighing. “Cready asked me to ditch you all and run off with him.”

Rhiannon blinked, “I’m… sorry? Why would he…?”

“Because he wants me to ditch Simon, specifically.” Lilith leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. “Which is not happening.”

“Oh.” A part of Rhiannon whispered to her that she should encourage Lilith to take MacCready up on his offer, or at least compromise and leave Simon, but she couldn’t bring herself to listen…  even if she had been replaying their kiss in her mind all afternoon, wondering if it could have gone differently, and what would have been if it had. “That’s... I thought he was over all of that.”

“So did I!” Lilith huffed, sinking down in her chair. “So I said no and he got pissy.”

“Oh…” Rhiannon sat down across from Lily, not sure whether or not to reach across the table to comfort her, or simply press for more details. “Well, maybe he’ll move past it this time, too?”

“I doubt it,” Lily grumbled, rocking her chair back onto its back feet.

“What... did he say to try to get you to leave?” Rhiannon ventured. Lilith stayed quiet for a long moment after this. “Lily?”

“He... said he wanted us to go back to the way things were. Just us trying to get rich. Just... me and him.”

Rhiannon sat quietly for a moment, “How… how did Simon react to all this?”

“He made sure I was okay, asked me what I wanted to do... comforted me. A lot sweeter than I would have expected from anyone else.”

“Guess that’s why you call him ‘sugar?’” Rhiannon teased, in spite of another rush of guilt for her own twisted up feelings.

“Heh. Guess so.” Lily cracked a smile.

“He’s taking all this pretty well, then? I didn’t see any bruises on him or on MacCready earlier.”

“He… he trusts me, I guess.” Lilith shrugged. “He told me it didn’t matter what Cready said, as long as he didn’t try any shit. Simon’s good people. Better than I’m used to.”

“He’s definitely good people,” Rhiannon agreed, looking down to the table. “You think you’d be as calm if someone… if someone was in love with _him_?”

“I mean, maybe?” Lilith shrugged again. “I don’t think Simon would leave me or cheat. So I guess I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Even if I did keep an eye on that other person.”

“Ha… yeah…” Rhiannon agreed awkwardly, continuing to avert her eyes.

“Wait… I thought you and Simon… didn’t work out?” Lilith spoke slowly, reading the expression on Rhiannon’s face even as she tried to turn away.

“I just… realized today… that _maybe_ I was still in love with Vinny when Simon and I… _happened_ the first time, and I… I don’t know. I don’t know what to think or feel or…” Rhiannon said in a rush, before stopping and looking at the mercenary. Lilith merely stared back at her, expression blank.

“Maybe that’s something you need to talk to Simon about,” Lily said slowly.

“I can’t- couldn't… not without talking to you first.” Rhiannon’s face fell back to the table, “I’m not the kind of person to steal a friend’s boyfriend. I just… I wanted to be sure you knew that I wasn’t going to try anything, you know?”

“Yeah.” Lily nodded. “Yeah, I understand. Um… I’m gonna go.”

“Lily-”

“I’m not mad at you,” the mercenary assured Rhiannon quickly. “I just… I think I need to think about some shit. You should talk to Simon, though.”

“I will. At… some point.”

“Cool. Cool, cool.” Lily shuffled towards the door awkwardly. “Well… goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Rhiannon replied, just as uncomfortably.

* * *

**March 6th, 2288.**

Morning is an important time of day, because how you spend your morning can often tell you what kind of day you are going to have.

For instance, if you wake up to the sound of pleasant music, and find yourself in a clean, Pre-War king-sized bed, with a Mr. Handy hovering next to you holding a breakfast of freshly made razorgrain muffins with hand-squeezed mutfruit juice on a silver tray, you will know that your day will be a splendid one.

However, if you wake up to the sound of somebody loudly playing a trumpet, and find yourself in a small bunk bed, with a drill sergeant standing in the doorway holding no breakfast at all…

“Rise and shine!” Ronnie shouted after the trumpeter had finished his piece, “Up and at ‘em!”

“Five more minutes…” MacCready murmured sleepily, turning over to his other side.

“I’m not a Minuteman, does that mean I can tell her to fuck off?” Simon grumbled, shoving his head under his pillow.

“If you don’t, I will,” Lily replied, plugging her ears and curling up in a ball.

“If you ingrates plan on going to the Glowing Sea, then you’re gonna have to be prepared for whatever it throws at you,” Ronnie barked at them as a pair of Minutemen walked into the room with buckets of water, “If you’re not on your feet in five seconds-”

“Fuck off.” Simon’s muffled voice carried from under his pillow.

“Start with that one.” Ronnie pointed over to the mechanic. With a shrug, the Minuteman headed over to his bunk and poured a splash of seawater over the irate man.

“Motherfucker!” Simon cursed, launching out of bed and hitting his head on the top bunk’s rungs, “Fuck!”

With that the members of Rhiannon’s away party forced themselves to their feet, complaining all the way.

“What time is it?” Lily grumbled, rubbing at her eyes and pulling her coat down from the top bunk.

“Let me check…” Simon blinked, looking at his Pip-Boy, “It’s… _five thirty_?! What the fu-”

Once again a splash of seawater coated the mechanic, cutting off his curse.

“Are you trying to give us Rad poisoning?” MacCready snapped, turning deliberately away as he was reminded that Lilith slept in only her underwear.

“Ha! That’s _nothing_ compared to the Glowing Sea!” Ronnie scoffed, “Now get dressed-”

“Or don’t.” Cait smirked over at Lily. The redhead was hit by a splash of cold water seconds later.

“Get dressed and be in the courtyard in five,” Ronnie ordered, “If you can handle a month of my harshest survival training, you _might_ survive a few days in the Glowing Sea.”

“Is it too late to opt out?” Lilith groaned, pulling on her trenchcoat.

“Yes.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiatus begin... shouldn't be on tour for more than a week, and Chapter 32 is pretty far along as of now.


	32. Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the their invasion of the Commonwealth approaches, Caldwell and the Nuka World raiders decide their first strikes. Meanwhile, Goliath's patience reaches its end, and the Super Mutant enacts his plan to push the Overboss and the Banshee together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back from the tour! Good times. I got to experience Canada Day at Niagara Falls... what a blast! Pun intended.
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by The Beatles.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY TWO**

**COME TOGETHER**

* * *

**March 5th, 2288.**

“…And it looks like the M&M connection has made it through our little minefield, but hey, there’s still  _ plenty  _ of time for the Gauntlet to claim another pair of victims!”

As RedEye’s commentary rang over the loudspeakers, the Cola Cars arena was packed full of waiting spectators. Caldwell patiently stood in the middle of the arena itself as members of the Operators and Pack listened intently to every one of the raider DJ’s words, hoping, praying their leader would prove themselves worthy and escape death.

“Get in there, suckers! Hope you don’t forget to feed the Mirelurks!”

In a spectator’s area of their own, the Harbingers sat patiently, listening to RedEye’s commentary. The Banshee paced along in front of the viewing glass, listening closely for any news of failure from her rivals, her eyes darting between the floor and the arena.

“Mo- Banshee…” Scarlett corrected herself, her hands folded in her lap as she sat upright in her red lounge chair, “You’re making me nervous, can you please sit down?”

Moira didn’t respond for a moment, but finally returned to the seat she’d claimed earlier beside Witch. After only a few moments, and RedEye declaring another victory, one of the Banshee’s legs began to bounce anxiously, and she started to chew on the nail of her thumb.

“It’s the gas next,” Brownstone hissed as he rocked back and forth in his chair. The disgraced chem cook was seated next to Scarlett, with one of Caldwell’s Doomed looming over his shoulder at all times, watching carefully for even a hint of aggression, “Gas room’s where Caldwell had hisself a lil trouble. They will too.”

“Maybe this will do them in, finally,” Witch said as reassuring as he could.

“God, I hope so,” Stitches sighed from her spot by the radio.

“Looks like  _ someone _ isn’t very clever!” RedEye cackled over the airwaves, “Let’s see if our vics can kill the gas before the gas kills them…”

“See. Dead in no time.” Brownstone insisted.

“There’s  _ two  _ of them,” Scarlett reminded her uncle.

“But they’re idiots,” Stitches argued.

“Fair point.” The Queen of Hearts conceded.

Moira leaned back against the couch, closing her eyes and listening intently for the next update. After an agonizing eight minutes of silence- save for RedEye’s complaining about them taking too long to die- the next update came.

“That’s right, vics! Breathe that fresh air… while you can…”

“Shit, they made it through.”

Moira sighed, getting back to her feet and resuming her back and forth along the window. The other Harbingers in the room exchanged nervous glances. In the center of the arena, Caldwell’s gaze tilted towards the Harbinger’s booth, following Moira’s anxious pacing.

“Well, goddamn! Looks like they’re in the home stretch! Remember, the Overboss has approved audience participation… so get out there and show us what you’re made of!”

Moira noticed Caldwell’s gaze on her, and for a moment the pair of bosses locked eyes, before Moira turned away and continued to pace.

“I have a few of my guys on audience participation duty,” Scarlett informed the others in the booth, “Hopefully-”

Suddenly, the Cola Cars alarm started to blare. Mason and Mags had survived the Gauntlet.

“You were saying?”

“Well, I’ll be fucked! Looks like the M&M connection has managed to survive the Gauntlet! But hey, doesn’t mean the Overboss is gonna let ‘em off the hook. Who knows? Stay tuned, and if you- like me- are in the arena watching, keep your eyes peeled on the action…”

Witch, Stitches, and the other few Harbingers that had come along crowded to the window near the Banshee, eagerly looking down into the arena. Brownstone remained in his seat, but Scarlett found a place beside Moira, putting an arm around her hip.

“You okay?”

“We’ll see,” Moira replied, staring intently at the Overboss for his reaction to this victory.

Finally, the doors to the arena opened. Battered and bloodied, Mags and Mason strode out before the crowds. The Pack began to howl, and the Operators let out an uncharacteristically loud cheer as the pair approached the Overboss.

Once they were before him, Caldwell stood as a statue for a few moments, letting them catch their breath… before reeling back and flooring Mason with an uppercut, and Mags with a right hook. The Pack and Operators fell silent immediately as Caldwell reached his hand into the air, a microphone lowering from the ceiling and into his waiting grasp.

“The next time you pull a stunt like that, I  _ will _ kill you,” He glared down at the fallen raider bosses, neither able to stand after suffering through the Gauntlet, “And let this be a lesson to the rest of you! The next motherfucker who disturbs my peace will find a fate worse than death awaiting them!”

Letting go of the microphone, the Overboss looked back over the faces behind the glass. However, when his eyes drifted to the Harbinger’s sitting area, he saw it to be vacant. An inexplicable feeling of emptiness washed over Caldwell as he gazed at the glass where the Banshee had stood.

After another moment, he departed, leaving Mags and Mason to be retrieved by their respective gangs.

* * *

**April 5th, 2288.**

After a month, things had  _ finally  _ calmed down.

With the ‘Carrot and Stick’ policy in place, the gangs of Nuka World were doubly encouraged to cooperate with each other. A combination of fear and greed kept them from each other’s throats… and  _ no one _ wanted to find out what a ‘bigger, meaner stick’ than the Gauntlet could be. But there was excitement in the air. The time had finally come. The Inner Council had assembled to plan the first strikes against the Commonwealth.

“Honestly, it comes down to pick between two spots,” Gage, wielding a car’s radio antenna, pointed on the unfurled map of the Commonwealth, “We could hit Gunner Plaza, and fuck up the competition early…  _ or _ we can take that Sunshine Tidings place, give us a little more breathing room to come and go… but it might alert the Minutemen to what we’re doing.”

“How widespread are the Minutemen now?” Mags asked, nervously drumming her nails on the table.

“They’re all over the fuckin’ place,” Gage sighed as he reached over the table to grab blue tokens from a children’s board game to place on the map, “Their main stronghold is here; they call it The Castle.”

“Jackdaw has informed us that the Minutemen now possess artillery,” Caldwell spoke up, having been silent for much of the meeting, “Attacking the Castle at this point would be suicidal.”

“Infiltration might not be,” the Banshee suggested, uncrossing and recrossing her ankles as her feet rested comfortably on the table. “We sneak in, cripple them from inside, then make the push from outside the walls.”

“They also got a spot called ‘Sanctuary,’” Gage continued, “It was their first take, if you recall. It’s no fortress, but still heavily defended.”

“Maybe we can hold that hostage?” Scarlett piped up. “If, you know, push comes to shove.”

“Maybe.” Caldwell hummed.

“According to the reports, they’ve got fingers in…” Gage paused to look at his list, “Abernathy Farms, Tenpines Bluff, Starlight Drive-In, Greygarden, Oberland Station, Hangman’s Alley, and what we already mentioned. There’s a Red Rocket truck stop outside of Sanctuary too, but apparently it’s just a loner and his robots living out there.”

“Christ, they’re spreading like a mold,” Moira murmured, sliding her feet off the table so she could better see the spread of the tokens.

“As far as we know, they’ve got nothing in the East, and nothing in the South,” Gage pointed at a few spots on the map, “There’s four settlements towards the Southwest, all right by the Gunner Plaza.”

“Egret Tours, Somerville Place, Jamaica Plain, and…” Mags paused, her voice dripping with disgust as she read the final name, “Murkwater.”

“Then we should be killing some fucking Gunners,” Mason spoke up. By now, his wounds had healed, and he did nothing to hide the mangled scar tissue where his ear was missing.

“And how are we going to get everyone that’ll be attacking the Gunners and these settlements to their positions without getting spotted by those Sunshine Tidings yokels?” Ishmael, Ivey’s appointed representative for when she ventured into the Commonwealth, asked the Pack Alpha with a glare, “We gotta hit Sunshine  _ first _ , or else they’ll rat us out.”

“Or we raise the Minutemen’s flare unintentionally and then bring all of these settlements down on us when we barely have our foot in the door,” the Banshee argued. “Much as it pains me to say it, I agree with Mason. Let’s strike the Gunners first.”

“We put it to a vote,” Caldwell ordered, “All in favor of attacking the Gunners first?”

Mason and Moira were the first to raise their hands. Mags, reluctantly, was the next to follow, and Scarlett after her. After a brief moment of deliberation between the Disciples, Nisha raised her hand as well.

“Majority goes to attacking the Gunners,” Caldwell nodded.

“Hooray for Democracy,” Gage deadpanned as he put a green token on the map to indicate Gunner Plaza.

“If I may?” Witch spoke up from his place behind Moira.

“Speak.” Caldwell turned to the Harbinger.

“For those who are hesitant, Gunner Plaza will give us a place to dig in our heels,” Witch explained. “The surrounding settlements are likely already being bled by them, so it won’t be too difficult with another hand on the knife. They have resources we can use and by the time the Minutemen realize we’re there, we’re siege ready. It’s… the best option.”

The table was mostly silent, the dissenters muttering between each other, before Ishmael spoke up again, “Gunner Plaza is  _ already  _ fortified against the Minutemen. We’ll be throwing ourselves at a wall. You had better be ready for what that entails.”

“They’re fortified against the  _ Minutemen _ , not against  _ us _ .” Caldwell responded, “And they will fall, just like the Minutemen will. Is there any more to say about this, or the other topics discussed?”

A few solid seconds of silence descended on the table, the Raider bosses looking between one another.

“Then this meeting is over. Dismissed.” Caldwell waved them off. The assembly rose to their feet, heading for the lift and speaking in low voices to one another as they vacated the Grille. While she waited for the lift, Goliath tapped on the Banshee’s shoulder.

“Stay, fair lady. There is more to discuss.”

Ignoring the glare her second fixed the mutant with, Moira shook her head. “I’m sorry, Goliath. I need to make sure the Red Rocket held up after that storm last night.”

“It will not be long.” Goliath insisted, “Overboss wants to talk about Gunners.”

“Fine.” Moira and Witch both stepped out of line for the lift, the Banshee folding her arms impatiently. The grey mutant gently led Moira back to the sitting area, where Caldwell sat in his lounge chair with a bottle of Quantum, idly stroking the muzzle of her former pet Deathclaw.

“What do you want?” Moira asked shortly.

“A million caps,” Caldwell deadpanned as Volos took a few steps over to lick Moira’s face.

“Then you’ll have to lower the usual tithe,” Moira replied, giving Volos a few scratches beneath his chin.

“Come, have a seat,” Caldwell gestured to the couches, “There are a few details I want to work out with you about the plan to attack Gunner Plaza.”

The Banshee’s eyes cut back to where Witch stood waiting for her. “I have to check in at the Red Rocket. I don’t have much time.”

“Then I won’t take much of it.” Caldwell responded, taking a sip of his glowing cola. Moira hesitated before settling on the arm of one of the couches. Witch crossed the room and settled onto the sofa beside her. Volos found a place between Moira and Caldwell, seeking attention from his former and current masters.

“Intelligence reports regarding the Gunner’s firepower and defenses… are not in our favor.” Caldwell sighed, “There are at least two patrolling Gunners wielding Fat Man nuke launchers, and at least one is in possession of a Gauss rifle. Attacking head-on would result in far more casualties than I would prefer.”

“So we drop the men on the wall first,” Moira suggested. “What kind of armor? We could go old school. Use bows and arrows to keep from raising the alarm.”

“Gunners prefer combat armor and Pre-War military clothes and gear,” Caldwell shook his head, “Bows and arrows won’t beat that armor… but if the archer’s aim is good enough, one could hit them in the head or neck. Still, I wouldn’t recommend it. Too far to shoot, we may as well be sneaking up to assassinate them with knives.”

“We could do that,” both Harbingers said together.

“This will be dangerous,” Caldwell reiterated, “So bear that in mind when you choose who will join the few Doomed I bring with me for this.”

“You’re putting yourself on the frontline?” Witch asked incredulously.

“You think I’m going to leave something like this to some handpicked ‘General Ripper’ with no appreciation for the subtle art of murder? No, I’m going to  _ personally  _ ensure this mission succeeds.” Caldwell leaned towards Witch, “And I need to stretch my legs. I’ve been caged up for too long.”

The Harbinger released a soft hum, leaning back into the couch cushions.

“Now, that’s all I had to discuss regarding the Gunners,” Caldwell took another sip of Quantum, “How have your people been settling into the Red Rocket?”

“Well,” Moira answered, as she and Witch got to their feet. “I’m just worried about the rain last night, which is why I’m going out to check on Ellison.”

“I see,” Caldwell replied, “Do let me know if there’s anything you need.”

“Certainly. Now, if we’re finished here, I’ll see myself out.” Moira nodded and began to follow Witch towards the lift once more. As she did, there was a sudden gust of hot air that blew her hair around.

“He misses you,” Caldwell commented as Moira turned to see Volos, that blue glowing Deathclaw, all but begging for her affection.

“I didn’t make the choice to give him up,” Moira replied. She had the feeling they weren’t just speaking about the Deathclaw, though she indulged Volos in more scratches, and a kiss to his muzzle. “It’s just business, right? What’s best for operations around here.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t visit.” Caldwell responded, rising from his chair to stroke the side of the Deathclaw’s face, his fingers brushing against Moira’s, “You certainly left an impact on him.”

“He’s not mine to keep.” Moira pulled her fingers away to pet another patch of glowing scales. “He should learn to be without me.”

“He tries.” Caldwell stepped away from the Deathclaw, his hand tracing along the beast’s horn as he went. Moira gave Volos another kiss, then moved to the lift reluctantly. Witch waited for her with his finger hovering over the button.

“Goodbye, fair lady.” Goliath bowed his head for Moira as she passed by and stepped onto the lift.

“Goodbye, Goliath,” Moira replied, as Witch hit the button and the lift began to descend.

* * *

The Red Rocket had managed to sustain the worst of the storm; one part of the roof had been blown off, but Ellison had reinforced the repairs enough that the rain didn’t leak through. He’d offered water to Moira, Witch, and Stitches, and was just giving them their cans when other guests appeared.

“Hey,” Scarlett greeted, tugging Brownstone along by the elbow. The former junkie was looking  _ very  _ different these days. A good deal of color had returned to his face, and he wore less face paint… but he still looked ill, his eyes twitching and dilating as he shook, desperately seeking out a moment of release from his precious chems.

Witch grimaced as he saw the state of the man, and immediately looked away, his stomach turning as he recalled his own painful detox.

“Hello, Scarlett.” Moira smiled fondly at the other Raider. “What brings you all the way out here?”

“Uncle Allison needs some fresh air, and I thought we’d stop by,” The Queen of Murder shrugged, guiding Brownstone to an unoccupied chair next to Stitches, “Did the storm do a lot of damage?”

“Not a bit,” Ellison answered proudly, handing both Scarlett and Brownstone cans of purified water. “I’ve gotten the place well fortified over the past month.”

“How have you been holding up?” Scarlett asked the Harbingers, “I know losing Noose was hard. Are you doing okay?”

“A bit better,” Ellison answered with a sigh. “Still miss the big idiot though.”

“No more Tic-Tac-Toe,” a low voice rumbled as Doc entered the garage of the Rocket where the group sat.

“Right… I remember that…” Scarlett snapped her fingers, “How many games did they tie?”

“Four hundred and six.” Ellison scowled. “And now everyone’s arguing that Doc wins by default, and no one wants to give up their caps on a technicality.”

“So just… everyone gets their caps back?” Scarlett blinked.

“Those games were boring as shit anyhow,” a Harbinger entering the room scoffed.

“Really, Redgate?” Witch chimed in, looking over at the ginger man. “Because I remember you placing a few bets.”

“They were not boring,” Ellison retorted.

“Tic-Tac-Toe is a shitty game,” Redgate continued, ignoring Witch. “It takes like, eight seconds at best, and you never feel  _ good _ about winning. Have you ever heard someone  _ brag _ about winning Tic-Tac-Toe?”

“What if you raised the stakes?” Witch mused, watching Redgate grab a Nuka Cola from the supplies. The red-headed man shrugged and left the room.

“Let me hit you with this; in the case of a draw,  _ both _ players are  _ killed _ ,” Ellison pitched, grabbing a piece of chalk off a bench.

“Wait, what?!” Scarlett gasped, “That doesn’t sound like-”

“Haha, I  _ love _ this!” Witch grinned, watching Ellison draw a board on the ground.

“So, again, that’s the only rule. If there’s a draw, we’re both going to be killed,” Ellison reiterated, marking an ‘X’ in the centermost square.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Witch laughed, kneeling down by the board. “What happens if I lose?”

“You’ll be killed, but  _ I’ll _ live.” Ellison shrugged, handing Witch the chalk. The second took a moment to consider before drawing an ‘O’ in the bottom left corner. Ellison hesitated before putting an ‘X’ in the middle-left square.

“Now  _ really  _ think hard about what you’re going to do next here, Witch,” Ellison insisted, “One of us could walk away from this, or-”

Witch grabbed the chalk and marked his circle in the middle-right square.

“Witch, why would you… like, I specifically-”

“If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me, Ellison,” Witch declared, handing Ellison the chalk.

Ellison glared at the feathered raider before scratching an ‘X’ in the bottom right. Witch took the chalk back and drew his ‘O’ in the top left.

“See,  _ why are you doing this?  _ Like, you don’t want at least  _ one  _ of us to-” Ellison snapped, standing up and swatting the chalk to the floor.

“I’m taking you down with me-”

“Stitches are you  _ hearing  _ this shit?!” Ellison’s gaze turned over to his sister. The medic pinched the bridge of her nose.

“A lot of people ask me, ‘Stitches, what’s the best part of being a Harbinger?’ And I never know what to tell them, but now I’ll at least be able to conclusively say, ‘not when they risk their lives over Tic-Tac-Toe.’”

“But this is what I’m  _ saying  _ Stitch-”

“Where you gonna put yours, Ellison? Game’s not over, game’s not over,  _ game’s not over _ ,” Witch interrupted, holding up half of the broken chalk to Ellison.

“Stitches, what I’m saying is, you’re watching this  _ killing game  _ and you’re gonna walk away from this with  _ no  _ brothers, do you want  _ no brothers  _ or  _ one  _ brother?!” Ellison gestured frantically with his arms.

“At  _ this _ point?” Stitches rolled her eyes. “Right this second?”

“Your move,  _ coward _ .” Witch wiggled the chalk more insistently.

“When my quote, unquote ‘family’ have decided to make idiots of themselves over one of the most basic games in the world, right now I’m unequivocal.”

Ellison grabbed the chalk from Witch and crossed out the bottom middle square.

“Fuck. I thought I had you.” The second twirled his piece of chalk in his fingers.

“Nah, you don’t have  _ shit _ .”

Witch glared and drew his circle in the top right square, then quickly realized his mistake. “Oh wait no-”

Ellison immediately crossed out the top middle box, completing his line of X’s. He made a finger gun and pointed it at Witch. “Boom! Sorry, Witch.”

“You’re right,” Moira admitted, as Witch dramatically fell backwards to the floor, “That  _ does _ make it a better game.”

“Better if you killed him,” Doc grumbled, still watching them from the corner of the garage.

“That’d be a silly way to go out,” Scarlett giggled, “Over a game of Tic-Tac-Toe.”

“Silly? No.  _ Stupid _ way to die.” Brownstone hissed quietly, speaking up for the first time since he’d arrived, “Over x’s and o’s? Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

“At least someone in this gas station has some sense,” Stitches agreed.

“Sure, if he was  _ making  _ any,” Ellison muttered, wiping away the marks on the floor.

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” his sister snapped. “You were threatening to kill yourself over a fucking game not two seconds ago. You don’t get to talk about rationality.”

Scarlett let out a low whistle, “Damn, girl. Go off.”

“Okay, Jesus H. Christ.” Ellison recoiled immediately from her. “I’m gonna go check on repairs.”

“I’ll come with you,” Witch volunteered, finally rolling to his feet. Doc nodded and lumbered out after the two men.

“Well… best be hitting the ol’ dusty trail…” Scarlett stretched, looking between Moira and Stitches for a few moments before addressing the medic, “Uhhh… would you mind babysitting Uncle Allison sometime? I can’t always trust my guys to keep him out of trouble, and I need a break once in awhile.”

“Sure.” The scarred woman shrugged. “I already babysit half the people around me. What’s one more?”

“You sure it’s okay?” Scarlett asked, her eyes drawn more towards the Banshee as she sought confirmation from Stitches, “If you have shit to deal with here…”

“No, just making sure my brother didn’t get struck by lightning. Though now I’m kind of wishing he had...”

“Stitches has helped me keep Witch clean for years,” Moira assured Scarlett. “She’s unflinching.”

“Thank you,” Scarlett let out a sigh of relief as she hooked her arm with Brownstone’s, “I’ll send a runner if I need you.”

“Bye Stitch.” Brownstone mumbled as his niece pulled him to his feet.

“Bye, Alli,” the medic replied coolly. “Keep your nose clean.”

“He will.” Scarlett affixed the recovering addict with a stern look.

* * *

Goliath watched as the Overboss snored in his lounge chair, a smouldering cigar trapped between his fingers. His bottle of Quantum had slipped from his grasp, and its shattering did not wake him, nor did his new pet as it lapped up the soda from the floor.

He felt the Calling again. While the Sight had not told him anything about a deadline, the mutant’s patience had reached its bitter end. Rolling his shoulders, Goliath headed back into the Fizztop’s depths, seeking out Gage’s bedroom and slamming his fist against the door three times. After a moment, in which two voices conversed, Gage slipped out of the room, dressed only in a pair of shorts.

“Uh... what can I do for you-”

“Caldwell and the fair lady must come together again,” Goliath interrupted, “He has been depressed in her absence, and if he is distracted like this when he assaults the Gunners, then he will die.”

“And how are  _ we _ supposed to do anything about that?” Gage frowned.

“I have a plan,” Goliath responded simply.

“Uhhh… okay…?” Gage blinked, “How about you run the details by me later?”

“As you say,” Goliath leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble, like thunder in the distance, “But if you fail me, I will crush your head like a melon. There is too much at risk.”

Whatever snide response Gage had been cooking up died before it could be uttered. “Yeah... sure thing, buddy.”

Goliath snorted once through his nostrils and lumbered away. Behind Gage, the door slowly clicked and opened.

“Is he serious?” Witch scoffed, peering into the hall after the mutant. “The Banshee finally has her head on straight again. She doesn’t need to get dragged back into this mess.”

“I’ve never known him to be anything  _ but  _ serious,” Gage blinked, still staring after the grey Super Mutant.

“Well, you’re not going to help him, are you?”

“I… uhh…” Gage suddenly realized he was caught between a rock and a hard place. If he  _ didn’t _ help, Goliath would kill him. If he  _ did… _ “I don’t know.”

“Has the almighty Overboss  _ really _ been that dejected because a woman won’t talk to him?”

“I don’t know,” Gage shrugged, “But he’s  _ definitely _ been off his game for awhile.”

“Don’t help Goliath.” Witch took one of Gage’s hands in his own. “Please?”

Gage hesitated, looking down at their fingers and then back up at Witch. He didn’t want to deny Witch, and it was true that the Banshee seemed sharper over the past month. But his own life was on the line, and at the end of the day, Gage was as much a self-preservationist as any other raider.

“I’ll see if I can find a way to make Goliath  _ think _ I’m helping,” Gage finally compromised. Witch seemed pleased by this, pulling the one-eyed raider back into the room.

“Thank you.” The Harbinger gave the Overboss’s second a kiss, then lowered himself onto his knees, pulling Gage’s shorts down in the same motion. “Now, where were we?”

* * *

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” Scarlett sighed as Stitches stepped through the double doors and into the Queen’s bedchambers, “Goliath showed up and said something about a meeting, and I couldn’t find anyone reliable to keep an eye on Uncle Allison-”

“It’s fine,” the medic interrupted with a roll of her eyes. “I had the afternoon free.”

“It’s just… so short notice, and I’d only asked you this morning, I didn’t even know I’d need you to watch him so soon…” Scarlett rushed around the room, grabbing assorted accessories and making sure her hair and makeup were in order.

“You and Goliath having a meeting or a hot date?”

“No, the meeting’s with Caldwell, Goliath just told me about it,” Scarlett tried to adjust her dress as to show off a little more cleavage, “Okay, so, if you need anything just let someone know, everyone knows why you’re here and they’ve been ordered to assist you in whatever you-”

“I’ll be fine.”

After another moment, Scarlett determined she was appropriately groomed for her meeting. Putting her hands on Stitches’ shoulders, the Queen let out a quick breath, “You’re the doctor here, so I’ll trust your judgement on how to deal with him… but keep him away from the hard chems. Please?”

“Stop touching me, first of all.”

“Sorry.” Scarlett retracted her hands and took a small step back.

“I’ll keep my eye on him. I’ve dealt with this before. Not  _ quite _ this bad, but close.”

“Thank you…” Scarlett leaned in to give the other woman a hug, but managed to restrain herself, “I’m gonna go now. Be good, Uncle Allison.”

“I ain’t a kid, kid.” Brownstone droned from a lounge chair, where the chem cook reclined lazily, staring into space, tapping his fingers against the arms rapidly.

“Go, get laid.” Stitches gave Scarlett a shove towards the door.

Scarlett’s face turned bright red for a moment before she centered herself and strode out the door with confidence.

“Jesus, that kid has the energy of a hummingbird on Psycho.” Stitches rolled her eyes and pulled a small container from her pocket.

“She worry too much.” Brownstone agreed, slowly rocking back and forth until he heard the sound of the container. Suddenly, the junkie was at attention, “What’s that?”

“Mentats,” Stitches replied. “You get one to take the edge off. You take too many after this long and you’ll kill yourself. Too many or too little causes system shock.”

“Gimme! Gimme!” The man launched out of his chair, tripping over a rug and landing on his face in front of the medic.

“You’re an embarrassment,” Stitches deadpanned, kneeling and offering a single mentat to Brownstone. The addict greedily grabbed the pill, shoving it into his mouth and letting it dissolve for a moment.

“An embarrassment you seem to stick ‘round.”

“I was asked to watch you, remember?”

“Could’a said no.”

“I’ll let you sit here alone and miserable if you want.”

Brownstone shuffled over to his chair, sitting back down to lounge with his legs over an arm, “On the level, we both know I like you bein’ ‘round. Do y’wanna be here though?”

“No one else seems capable of looking after you.” Stitches hooked her ankle around the leg of a chair and pulled it next to the recliner.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t mind.” She sank into the chair.

“I think you like me.”

“I think you’re full of yourself.”

“I think I’m seeing a bunch of colors again after everything’s been going dark,” Brownstone’s cadance changed slightly as he sat up straight, “It’s like… it’s like my brain is  _ alive  _ again, and I don’t know how long it’ll last or when the Mentats will wear off. Were they Berry Mentats? Whatever. Anyway, I think I’m seeing really clearly now, and the rain’s finally gone, and I think you actually  _ like _ me, and you  _ like _ spending time with me, and you’re  _ worried _ about me, and you’ve been worried about me for a long time, and-”

Brownstone’s energetic rambling was cut off as Stitches pressed her lips to his, just for an instant. After a few moments of blinking, during which the Harbinger could see the rusted gears in his head turning and scraping against each other, the junkie spoke.

“I’m not on drugs… that was  _ real _ . That  _ felt _ real.”

“Yeah, it was real, don’t jizz yourself.” The medic leaned back in her seat.

“Wow.” Brownstone leaned back as well, “C’mere and do it again.”

“Demanding piece of shit,” Stitches sighed, as she climbed carefully into the recliner and leaned down to capture Brownstone in a deeper, much more lingering kiss.

* * *

The whole way to the Fizztop, Scarlett tried to push the doubts and anxieties away. Allison was  _ fine  _ and Stitches could absolutely handle whatever he threw at her. Besides, he actually liked her a lot, it’s not like he was gonna threaten or attack her. Unlike Gavin.

Poor Gavin.

As she finally stepped onto the lift platform, the Queen of Hearts took a deep breath and tried to adjust her dress one last time before reaching for the button. However, a large hand grabbed her’s.

“Scarlett. Do  _ not _ sleep with the Overboss today.” Goliath growled down at her. How did he sneak up on her? He was like… a mountain!

“Excuse me?”

“Do  _ not  _ fuck Caldwell.” Goliath repeated, “Keep him occupied while I work. Take him away from the Fizztop Grille, and do  _ not  _ tell him I ordered this.”

“Okay…” Scarlett drew out the word. “What are you working on?”

“I will bring him and the fair lady together.” Goliath replied, “He has been depressed without her.”

“Yeah,” Scarlett agreed, sighing. “He’s been weird this past month… You really think it’s because of Moira?”

“I do not  _ think _ , I  _ know _ .”

“I’ll... do what I can.” The Queen of Hearts shifted nervously and reached for the button again. This time, the Super Mutant allowed her to press the button and watched as the lift carried her up to the Fizztop Grille.

Scarlett wrapped her arms around herself, then caught herself and instead folded her hands behind her back. She noticed Moira do so many times, and wondered if it was perhaps the Banshee’s way of hiding her discomfort, too.

Once at the top, she could see what Goliath meant by ‘depressed.’ The Overboss was asleep in his chair, a broken bottle of cola at his feet, and an unfinished cigar resting in a nearby ashtray. Volos, sensing her approach, strode across the room to meet her.

“Oh, shit. Um… good boy.” Scarlett held out her hands to the massive creature as she carefully inched into the room towards Caldwell. “Nice Volos.”

The Deathclaw sniffed the air, flicking his tongue out. After a moment of tense appraisal from the reptile, Volos licked Scarlett’s cheek. The raider queen let out her breath and rubbed his snout gently.

“There you go. Just Aunt Scarlett.” Scarlett made her way to Caldwell and set a hand on his shoulder.

Immediately the Overboss snapped to attention, grabbing a combat shotgun from behind his chair, aiming around the room in a panic before he realized the only occupants were his pet and one of his Inner Circle.

“Scarlett.” Caldwell remained tense as he set the shotgun back down next to his chair, “What a pleasant surprise to see you. How is Kiddie Kingdom?”

“It’s good,” she assured him with a small smile. “I just wanted to come and see you, though.”

“Very thoughtful of you,” Caldwell’s lips twitched upwards for a moment, “Was there anything in particular that you wanted to see me for?”

Scarlett  _ had _ been hoping to spend the afternoon in bed, but after Goliath’s insistence, she had to think of an alternative, and soon.

“Actually, yes.” The Queen looked away nervously. “I know it sounds a little stupid, but I heard some of the old rides still worked, and… you know the park better than anyone so…”

Caldwell blinked, “…You want to… go on the old rides?”

“I know it’s stupid,” Scarlett said in a rush, “It’s just that I’ve been so stressed watching Uncle Allison lately, and I wanted to do something fun and… well, I wanted to spend some time with you.”

The Overboss furrowed his brows, a little confused, “Well… my schedule’s free at the moment, and I know for a fact that the Nuka-Galaxy Roller Coaster in the Galactic Zone is fully operational… so… I can accommodate your request.”

“Let’s go then!” Scarlett brightened up, pulling Caldwell to his feet. As she did, she realized Goliath hadn’t given her a sense of how long she had to do this for. Well… hopefully she could just insist on riding the coaster several times. Taking the Overboss by the hand, the Raider Queen all but dragged Caldwell over to the lift, pressing the button anxiously.

“I’ve noticed that you’ve patched things up with the Banshee,” Caldwell commented as the lift descended.

“Oh, yeah! Once Brownstone and her people sat down and talked things out, we put our truce back into place.”

“Good. The last thing Nuka World needs is  _ another  _ bloody feud between gangs.” Caldwell folded his hands behind his back, “Out of curiosity, what do you discuss with the Banshee?”

“Uh...” Scarlett looked at the Overboss, a little puzzled. “Mostly how our gangs are doing, how Brownstone is, how the Red Rocket is... We talk about Witch and Gage sometimes.”

“That’s  _ all _ you talk about?” Caldwell’s sunglasses hid how he blinked in surprise that his name was not among those discussed.

“Well, I mean, we talk about stuff like the weather, or things we heard on the radio. Or about other people. Sometimes we discuss the coming invasion of the Commonwealth, but most of that you end up hearing at meetings.”

“And not  _ me _ ?”

“Um...” Scarlett’s voice went a bit quiet, trailing off as she spoke. “N-no. Not really.”

“Huh.” Caldwell frowned, embarrassed by his loss of control and disappointed by her answer, “I see.”

“I mean,  _ I _ talk about you,” Scarlett offered, picking up on his tone. “She... usually changes the subject though.”

“Oh. I see.”

After a heavy beat of silence, walking across the park, Scarlett piped up, “So... which ride’s first?”

* * *

“So once Ellison says the roof is patched up, they’re thinking of starting to farm out there. So we’ll need to figure out how many planters they need.” Witch was sitting at Moira’s desk, jotting down notes in the small black notebook he carried with him, “But first that means we need a permanent count of how many Harbingers are going to be living out there, and then we need to worry about beds.”

“Uh huh.” Moira, laying on her bed and staring up at the ceiling, was only halfway listening to a word her second was saying.

“So I’ve been taking names for people to send out, since Ellison’s only got three with him, outside of the mutants. That’s not enough to keep the defenses sturdy. Fontayne doesn’t want to let go of too many Spectres, but we could probably get two more, a few Crows, and a Raven or two.”

“Sounds good.”

“So I think Needle and Resnick wanted to volunteer, and maybe Flynn-”

A few sharp knocks interrupted the report.

“Come in,” Moira called, trying to hide the gratitude in her voice.

The door opened a moment later, with Gage on the other side, flanked by a Harbinger.

“Witch, remember earlier today when our… meeting was interrupted?”

“I do.” Witch raised an eyebrow, a small smile pulling at his lips.

“Well the big guy’s on the move.”

Witch’s smile dropped. “Oh. Uh, I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I don’t need to know,” Moira said quickly, catching at least half the innuendos, and assuming the rest followed suit. WIthout another word, Witch snapped his notebook shut and got to his feet. As the seconds departed together, Moira waved her hand to dismiss the accompanying Harbinger.

With the door shut behind her, the Banshee clicked on her radio, tuning it to get the clearest signal as she tried to catch anything from Diamond City. The DJ had seen a dramatic improvement in his reporting lately, and he tended to announce updates on the state of the Commonwealth that she’d found valuable. Besides, RedEye played the best songs late at night, after he’d stopped giving a shit.

_ "Like the wind that shakes the bough, he moves me with a smile. The difficult I'll do right now. The impossible will take a little while..." _

Well, nothing interesting to learn then. Still, Moira knew Witch was partial to this song, and couldn’t help smiling. She was just beginning to lay back down and get comfortable to wait for the news reports, when the door opened again, and Luka peered their head into the room.

“Banshee, we have a situation-”

Before they could finish their sentence, someone shoved Luka out of the way.

“I have a message for you,” A member of Caldwell’s Doomed stepped into the room, “It’s  _ important _ .”

“Luka, it’s fine.” Moira rolled her eyes as the Harbinger reached for their gun. “What message?”

“The Overboss wants to meet with you to discuss the Gunner assault,” The Doomed brushed back her hair, “However, due to the…  _ sensitive _ nature of certain elements of the intel, he requires that you come alone.”

“Of course he does.” Moira got to her feet. “When does he wish to meet?”

“He’s allotted ten minutes for you to prepare for the meeting. It’s rather urgent.” The Doomed insisted as she stepped back towards the door, “Apologies for the intrusion.”

“I’d ask you not to repeat it.”

“I’m afraid I’m bound to orders,” The woman replied before departing.

* * *

Moira sighed as she waited for the lift to descend, tugging at the sleeve of her leather jacket. Perhaps it was too bold of her to wear the red dress again, but on the other hand, something felt right about it. She’d gotten this far trusting her instincts, anyways.

“Moi- Banshee.”

“Overboss.” Moira looked up as the man approached.

“Good evening,” Caldwell maintained a neutral expression as the lift reached the floor, “You’ve been well, I take it?”

“Quite. And yourself?”

“I have.” Caldwell gestured to the lift, “After you.”

Moira nodded and stepped onto the platform. Her finger hovered over the button as she gestured for him to join her. Once the Overboss moved to take his place beside her, Moira pressed the button, nearly causing Caldwell to trip. After a moment of silence, Caldwell spoke up.

“So what brings you to me this evening?”

“You asked me to meet with you.” Moira raised an eyebrow at him. “About the Gunners?”

“What?” Caldwell turned sharply towards the raider queen, “I did no such thing. Who told you?”

“One of your Doomed. The woman with the green eyes?”

“Mischief?” Caldwell blinked behind his sunglasses, “But why would she-”

At that moment, the elevator reached its destination. Caldwell and Moira slowly turned in unison towards the Fizztop Grille. Strings of low-lit light bulbs crisscrossed the ceiling, bathing the room in a soft bronze light. The floor looked like it had actually been cleaned, all of the broken bottles and cigar butts disposed of. The booth with the best view looked to have been almost reupholstered, and a candle burned on its table. To top it all off, the hulking figure of Goliath stood before them with a towel draped over his arm and a bowtie around his neck.

“Caldwell. Fair lady. Welcome.” Goliath gestured over towards the candlelit table.

Moira’s mouth had fallen open as she looked around at the room, and her hand slowly moved back for the lift button. Caldwell’s jaw had similarly dropped, his hand almost subconsciously removing the sunglasses from his face.

“Come in. Sit.” Goliath demanded, walking over and grabbing the pair by an arm each, dragging them to their places.

“I was expecting a meeting,” the Banshee protested. “I don’t have a lot of time, Goliath.”

“I am not prepared for-” Caldwell also attempted to oppose.

“No. You sit. You eat. You talk.” Goliath said sternly, crossing his arms. The bosses looked to one another, before Moira gave a helpless shrug and took her seat. Caldwell soon followed, but not before giving a deadly glare to his mutant bodyguard.

“Harvey shall bring you your menu shortly. What would you like to drink?” Goliath asked.

“A Victory?” Moira asked, looking between Caldwell and the mutant in barely disguised bewilderment.

“Quantum.” Caldwell answered.

“It will be done.” Goliath turned and grabbed a pair of glowing bottles from behind the bar. Placing both on the table, the Super Mutant stepped back behind the counter, eyeing the pair intently.

“So,” Caldwell attempted to alleviate the awkwardness with small talk, “I’ve heard your people in the Red Rocket weathered the storm successfully.”

“Yes. The roof had some of the outer reinforcements damaged, but no leaks. Ellison will have it fixed by tomorrow.” Moira kept her gaze mostly on the flickering candle flame between them, now wishing she’d worn literally anything else for tonight.

“Good. That’s good.”

Moira nodded, her fingernails running along the tabletop back and forth.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve met like this,” Caldwell mused, popping open his bottle of Quantum with the table’s edge, “A little over a month, in fact.”

The Banshee nodded, following his lead and opening her Victory. “Yes, it’s... been some time.”

“Why  _ have _ you been keeping your distance?” Caldwell asked, staring at her through the flame of the burning candle.

“I’ve been busy,” Moira answered simply. “My people need me, and I have to put them first.”

“Have you?” The Overboss locked eyes with her, “I understand that your people need you, and I agree they are of highest priority to you. But you have been  _ avoiding  _ me. It’s…  _ childish _ .”

“I’m not avoiding you,” Moira argued. “I just can’t go back to spending time in your bed every other day and night. The night Noose and Vivienne died, where did I sleep? The morning we had our disagreement, I came home and found another of my Harbingers dead. I am needed at my home. You do not  _ need _ me.”

Before Caldwell could respond, the double doors opened. Harvey stepped through in a Pre-War suit, with a few boards with paper nailed into it. In his suit pocket, a pen and notepad sat at the ready.

“Good evening, I’m Harvey, I’ll be your waiter, and Goliath will kill me if I don’t stick to the script he gave me,” The Overboss’s personal assistant glanced back over his shoulder at the Super Mutant, “So here are the… ‘menus,’ and downstairs we have a number of skilled chefs with the best foods we could find, just waiting for your order. What’ll you have?”

“Surprise me,” Moira answered, after scanning the list of food for a moment.

“Get out your notepad.” Caldwell ordered. Harvey rushed to do so, nearly ripping his suit and dropping his pen in the process.

“Steak. I don’t care what from, but it’d better be medium rare. Cut it before it reaches this table. Mix up some Instamash with chopped and cooked carrots, corn, and crumbled crispy Cave Cricket. If I taste even a  _ hint  _ of Mirelurk, I will cut off one of your fingers and feed it to you. Understood?”

“Yes, Overboss. I got it all written down.” Harvey replied nervously, “Would you… like any appetizers while you wait? Soup? Fruit? Molerat?”

“Mutfruit,” Moira answered, offering Harvey her menu.

“An ear of roasted corn.” Caldwell returned the menu.

“Right away,” Harvey bowed his head, rushing out the doors.

Caldwell sighed, taking a sip of Quantum, “You can’t hide it. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’m trying to keep Witch appeased.” Moira drank from her bottle.

“We both know he doesn’t like me. Your people are a priority but that doesn’t mean you can’t spend any time-”

“Why am I so important to you?” Moira challenged, setting her drink down on the table with a little more force than necessary. “You have Scarlett, you have the Inner Circle. I serve no unique purpose.”

“You’re a part of the Inner Circle, do  _ not  _ forget that,” Caldwell replied, “You  _ have  _ a purpose. Tactically, the Harbingers are close-quarters assassins, as opposed to the Operators’ long-range.”

“Alright, and I serve that purpose as part of the whole. I’ve missed no meetings.”

“Where you’ve provided valuable insights and intelligence.”

“So I struggle to see where I’ve failed you and left you in need of me.”

Caldwell sputtered, “I…”

“Appetizers!” Harvey called out, bursting through the doors with two small plates. Moira accepted hers with a nod, intrigued to find the fruit sliced and prepared with some sort of glaze.

“Thank you, Harvey,” the Banshee said, examining the dish.

“My compliments to the chef.” Caldwell added, holding up his perfectly roasted ear of corn.

“About that…” Harvey scratched the back of his neck, “The  _ first _ chef burned your corn… so… they’re… cooking him for Miss Banshee’s dinner.”

“Perfect.” The Banshee’s smile revealed her fangs.

“The… the… uhh…” Harvey’s eyes dipped to the Banshee’s filed teeth, “The second chef is working with… uhh… some new recipes… he’ll do better.”

“Good.” Caldwell waved his servant off.

“Thank you sir, we’ll get your dinners finished as soon as possible!” Harvey all but sprinted out the door. As he left, Moira turned to her food, glad to have something to occupy her attention and give her an excuse to not speak.

“That morning a month ago,” Caldwell broke the silence as he looked over his ear of corn, “You mentioned your family was unable to fight off the Gunners that attacked your home.”

Moira paused mid-chew, her eyes lifting from her fork and to the Overboss. Her expression was unreadable, and her voice, when she’d swallowed and could reply, was guarded. “I did.”

“Tell me about the attack.”

“No.”

“I’m not demanding you open old wounds, but I want tactical details. How many were there? Who led the attack?”

“There were at least two dozen,” Moira answered after a long pause. “They answered to a man named Deckard.”

“How did they approach? Guns blazing? Did they surround you? Did they attempt stealth?”

“Deckard walked in with a few guns. He was setting up in Salem whether we liked it or not, figured having the labor of the people there was a good deal. My father and a man named Theo Rook disagreed. They didn’t make it past the first hour.”

Caldwell fell silent, allowing Moira a few moments of quiet. After making some progress into his roasted corn, the Overboss spoke again, “What do you want to know?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ve dug at you, it’s only fair you dive into me.” Caldwell shrugged, “Don’t act like you’re not curious.”

Moira considered this, taking a few more bites of her food. “That man at the house by the Rocket said you used to be called a hero. How do you go from a hero of the people to Overboss?”

Caldwell sighed and sat back, reaching into his coat for a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Moira, who held up a hand to decline, “It was… a gradual process.”

“I assumed as much. But there had to be a turning point.”

“It started when my father died.” Caldwell lit his cigarette, pausing to breathe smoke into the air above them, “I had no time to grieve. It was just… he died, and I had to lead the rest of Project Purity to the Brotherhood of Steel, and  _ then  _ I had to find the G.E.C.K., and to do  _ that  _ I had to go to Vault 87, and to do  _ that  _ I had to negotiate passage through Little Lamplight… it was fucking  _ constant _ . I couldn’t breathe. They were taking all the air from my lungs and the blood from my veins, and yet they wanted more and more from me.

“And it wasn’t just helping the Brotherhood remove the Enclave. It was  _ everyone _ . A pair of lunatics in Canterbury Commons were fighting, dressed as comic book characters. Some old man in Rivet City wanted me to steal the declaration of independence.

“Even Vault 101, the place where I grew up, offered me no rest! They call me home, and what do I see? A civil  _ fucking  _ war! And when I put that to rest they fucking  _ banish  _ me! They cast me out of my home!”

Caldwell let out a deep sigh, taking a moment to smoke and collect himself before continuing, “The tipping point… was after the Enclave was destroyed. I was tired. Weary. But I stayed, because of my love. When she died… I couldn’t take it. I left. I lived up to what they’d always called me; I was  _ alone _ and I  _ wandered _ . For nearly a decade, I walked the earth. And then… I stumbled upon the Gauntlet. The rest is history.”

Moira sat quietly for a moment, weighing her discomfort with heavy emotions and biting sarcasm against her desire to be sympathetic. Finally, she selected her words. “Amazing how the Wasteland finds new ways to make us each suffer so uniquely.”

“Indeed.” Caldwell sighed, sinking back into his seat, jamming his cigarette into a nearby ashtray. Without a word, Moira reached across to rest her hand on his.

“I missed you.” The Overboss murmured, his eyes unable to meet Moira’s.

“I know.” Moira’s thumb brushed over his fingers, her voice lowering to barely above a whisper, “I missed you, too.”

“Then why did you leave?”

“I was needed, I told you that.”

“You were. But you could’ve found a balance. You could’ve visited.”

“Perhaps. Witch wasn’t wrong in his criticism of how I spent my time. I wasn’t thinking as close to home as I should have, and I think I needed to just be the Banshee for awhile. To take care of the Harbingers and not the rest of Nuka World.”

A few moments of quiet settled over the table. Goliath stopped by to bring a pair of new bottles and remove the empty ones. Harvey led a few workers into the room to deposit their meals upon the table.

“Uhhh…” Harvey looked at some smudged writing on his hand, “Bone appetite.”

“Close enough.” Goliath rumbled from his place behind the bar. After the table was set, Harvey led the servants back out.

“Tell me about your family. Who were they? What were they like?” Caldwell asked after barely a moment’s hesitation.

“I’ve never really liked to talk about them,” Moira admitted, cutting into the steaks on her plate. “They were... ordinary. Impatient. Businesspeople.”

“So they were traders, then?”

“Yes. Caravan folk originally, but then they decided to settle in Salem.”

“Were they… good parents? Did they at least  _ try _ to be?” Caldwell asked, stabbing into a cut of meat.

“My mother did. She did her best.” Moira took a few bites before continuing. “In hindsight, I don’t think my father wanted children. I doubt I’d have ever made him proud, let alone happy.”

“You were an only child, I assume.”

“Yes. I think... after I came along they likely took care not to repeat their mistake.”

“What were their names?”

“Meaghan and Conall Kincaid.”

Caldwell’s curiosity seemed to be satisfied, and the Overboss dug into his meal. Moira’s appetite seemed to have waned, her gaze unfocused as she ate slowly. After a few minutes of silence, Moira finally spoke again.

“So, you’ve twice mentioned the woman you love. Who was she?”

Caldwell’s fork dropped out of his hand for a moment. Picking it back up, he let out a deep breath, “Her name… was Sarah Lyons. She was… she was the first person in the Brotherhood of Steel I met, and the only person who actually gave me what I needed after my father died.”

“Sex?” Moira guessed with a teasing smirk.

“That too.” Caldwell chuckled, despite himself.

“How did she die?”

Caldwell fell quiet for nearly a minute, “There was a boy. A squire in the Brotherhood, named Arthur Maxson. He loved her too… and he was jealous. Jealous that he was too young for her, jealous that I had her… he sabotaged one of my spare fusion cores. I unknowingly gave it to Sarah while we were fighting a Super Mutant overlord and his army. Her armor locked up and-”

Caldwell stopped suddenly and pulled his sunglasses back over his eyes before hastily resuming his meal.

“So that’s why you’re so desperate to push the Brotherhood from the Commonwealth.”

“I don’t just want to push them from the Commonwealth, I want to hang Maxson’s head on my fucking mantle.” Caldwell’s voice grew cold, “I want to burn down everything they own and everything they are until the Brotherhood of Steel is little more than a fevered dream in this Post-War Wasteland. I want to  _ erase _ them.”

“Good. No better motivator than spite.”

“And you want the same for the Gunners, I presume.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see that it becomes a reality.” Caldwell replied, returning the bulk of his focus to his half-eaten meal. The rest of the dinner passed quietly, until the workers returned to take their plates.

“Well. This was an… interesting, entertaining, and somewhat informative evening.” Caldwell slid out of the booth.

“Mmm.” Moira hummed in agreement, also getting to her feet.

“Perhaps we should do this again sometime… something we plan for, as opposed to it being sprung upon us,” Caldwell’s gaze slowly turned to glare at Goliath.

“That might be nice, provided it’s a little less formal next time,” The Banshee replied as she straightened her dress and jacket.

“Would you like to stay?” Caldwell asked, taking a step closer and resting a hand on her hip. Her hand moved to rest over his.

“I’d like to,” she admitted, before pushing his hand away, gently, “But I’m afraid I can’t. I have to handle some things in the morning.”

“I see.” Caldwell frowned slightly, “Well. I will see you soon, then?”

“Soon,” Moira agreed. She took a step towards the lift, before moving back and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Goodnight, Caldwell.”

“You’ve earned the right to call me ‘James,’ Moira.” Caldwell responded, resting a hand on her cheek.

“Then goodnight, James.” Moira reluctantly walked back towards the lift, nodding to Goliath as she went. “Goodnight, Goliath.”

“Goodnight, fair lady.”

* * *

When Moira returned, she was amused to hear that Witch had not. She knew her second would be there in the morning, as climbing in through his window in the dead of night seemed to have become a habit of his. If he missed breakfast, then she’d worry.

For now, the Banshee was able to avoid any further business and retired to her room. As she headed down the hall, shrugging off her jacket, voices from within the clinic caught her attention. Namely, Fontayne’s laughter caught her attention.

“Oh my god, no, you have another one right there!”

“Shut the fuck up and help me get rid of them,” Stitches snapped in response.

“I love that the medic is asking for my advice.”

“ _ You’re _ the one who’s been sleeping his way through half of Nuka World. Just hide them, if anything!”

“What’s going on?” Moira poked her head into the clinic. Immediately, Stitches’ hands lifted to hide her neck, an uncharacteristic blush turning her ears and cheeks bright red.

“Nothing!”

“Stitches has some hickeys,” Fontayne answered over her denial. The medic fixed him with a murderous stare. Moira smirked.

“Right. Play nicely, next time.” Moira moved back into the hall, a loud smack ringing out from the room behind her.

“Ow! Fuck! What, you want me to lie to the Banshee?”

“Fuck you.”

The Banshee shook her head; as much as she lectured Fontayne on his arrogance, she needed to extend the lesson to Stitches, it seemed. As she opened the door, Moira could hear her radio still playing softly, and realized she hadn’t turned it off before leaving.

_ "Then I saw the worst was over when I laid my eyes on you, it was all that I could do to know my place! Out of all the past illusions, out of all the dreams come true, I was gone until I finally saw your face…" _

Moira paused, her hand on the door handle. This was one of the songs RedEye played at night, and she knew she’d left it tuned to Diamond City Radio. Reaching for the knife she had on her thigh, Moira took a step into the room, listening intently and scanning the darkness for movement.

As soon as she cleared the doorway, the door closed behind her, a figure standing in it’s shadow. The Banshee spun around with the hunting knife brandished, the tip of the blade pointed to the silhouette’s throat.

“You couldn’t stay,” Caldwell said, gently taking hold of Moira’s hand and pushing the knife away, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t spend the night together.”

“You couldn’t just knock on my window?” Moira sighed, stepping backwards and setting the knife on her desk.

“If I could sneak by your Harbingers, the Gunners will be a cakewalk.” Caldwell shrugged.

“They may have turned a blind eye,” Moira suggested, setting her jacket down beside the knife and toeing out of her shoes.

“Would they, though?” Caldwell smirked.

“One of their superiors has taken to coming home as discreetly as possible.” Moira hopped onto the edge of the desk, crossing her ankles.

“I’m not one of your Harbingers.”

“You’re still their Overboss.”

Caldwell sighed, stepping further into the room, “We’re talking too much.”

Moira’s hand reached for his shape in the darkness, tugging him closer by his jacket. “What would you prefer we do?”

“I’m curious as to what  _ you  _ want to do.” Caldwell leaned in, his lips barely brushing against Moira’s.

“Well, I was intending to listen to the radio and go to bed,” she replied teasingly. “It’s been a long day.”

“Have those plans changed?”

“If you can suggest a better alternative, then perhaps I’ll consider a change.” Her voice, however had become more of a purr as her lips found his neck. Moira shifted closer to the edge of the desk, unfolding her legs.

“Oh, I’m sure we can think of  _ something _ if we put our minds together,” Caldwell hummed as he ran a hand down the Banshee’s back, the other seeking purchase on the back of her neck. Her legs wound around his waist, pulling the Overboss closer. Her hands lifted to shove his jacket off of his shoulders, a barely contained urgency to her movements.

“Tell me what you want, James,” Moira murmured against his neck, punctuating her sentence with a quick bite.

“I want  _ you _ , Moira.” Caldwell whispered back, the hand on the back of her neck inching upwards, his fingers snaking through her hair. Moira’s lips moved to his ear, and he could feel the smirk she wore.

“Then take me.”

With the assent of consent, Caldwell’s fingers tightened into a fist, pulling back on Moira’s head. His lips crashed into her’s as he kissed her hungrily. Moira reciprocated, at first with the same hunger, and then frantically. Her hands pulled him against her as she pressed into him, as though it were impossible to be as close as she needed, as though she’d been dying of thirst and only now had her first drops of water.

“I’m not waiting for you to get out of the dress,” Caldwell murmured into Moira’s mouth, trying to escape from his clothes with one hand, “I’m gonna fuckin’ take you right here.”

Moira didn’t answer, sealing his lips more insistently with hers while her hands moved to assist him in removing his pants. She rolled her hips against his, a soft sound akin to a whine escaping from her mouth.

“There we go…” Caldwell muttered as they finally managed to get his pants down far enough for his length to escape, “I’ll let you do the honors.”

Her legs still wound around his hips, Moira wasted no time in guiding Caldwell’s cock inside of her, and pulling him in deep as her ankles dug into his back. “Fuck, James… I needed this.”

“I bet you do,” Caldwell moved slowly, teasing with long strokes as he pulled her dress up around her waist. Moira leaned her head onto his shoulder, savoring the feeling of him filling her far too much to argue against the pace.

“You want more?”

“Yes,” she admitted, her teeth finding his neck and beginning to gently nip at the skin.

“How badly do you want it?”

“If you’re just here to tease me, I’ll take care of myself.” Moira leaned back and then in for a kiss. “You want this, too.”

“I do,” Caldwell gave one hard thrust, eliciting a gasp from the Banshee, “But I want to hear you say it.”

Moira considered this, worrying his lower lip between her teeth, before finally breathing against his mouth, “I  _ need _ it. I want you so badly it  _ hurts _ , James.”

“Then you’ll have me.” Caldwell finally increased his pace until they were at their usual rhythm: fast, deep, and hard. Moira kissed him harder, muffling a loud moan with his lips.

“James, s-slower, we need to be quiet,” The Banshee hissed, though she met each thrust with an all too eager buck of her hips.

“Do we, now?” Caldwell asked, his teeth grazing Moira’s earlobe, “I thought your Harbingers knew I was here.”

“If they don’t, I want to keep it that way.” Moira’s hands latched onto his shirt, giving herself something to anchor to. “And I want this to last.”

“As you wish,” Caldwell reluctantly slowed the tempo, his teeth and lips marking along the Banshee’s jawline, cheek, and neck.

“God, that’s perfect,” Moira praised, tilting her head back to give him better access to bite at her skin. “James...”

“Moira…” Caldwell breathed, taking the cue to continue his motions. After a few more minutes, Moira could feel her climax beginning to near, and her legs began to tighten.

“James... James, I’m getting close.”

“Good,” Caldwell replied as he moved just a little faster, “I’m not quite there yet. Ladies first.”

It didn’t take much more; a few more thrusts, and her teeth found his shoulder as Moira dampened her cry of ecstasy. She continued to roll her hips into his thrusts as she rode out her orgasm.

“I’m getting close,” Caldwell whispered into her ear as he continued, ignoring the trickle of blood that spilled from where she’d bitten a little too hard, “You’ve been waiting for it… now where do you want it?”

“My mouth,” Moira answered, licking the blood away from his skin and letting her tongue linger.

“Alright,” Caldwell slowed a little, “Let me out so you can get down. Don’t want to risk ruining that dress.”

Moira unwrapped her legs slowly, leaning up for one more kiss before she let him take a step back. Not cruel enough to make him wait, Moira lowered herself onto her knees and carefully took Caldwell’s length into her mouth, avoiding her fangs as she bobbed her head.

“Yes… Jesus Christ, Moira…” Caldwell hissed, a hand resting on the Banshee’s head, helping guide her pace. One of Moira’s hands lifted to stroke in time with her movements, and her tongue pressed against his cock as she sucked.

“Ah… Moira… Moira…” Caldwell clenched his teeth to restrain his gasp as he came into Moira’s waiting mouth. The Banshee slowed her movements to a halt until he’d finished, then leaned carefully back and swallowed the load.

“God, I missed you.” Caldwell sighed, a hand caressing the side of Moira’s face.

“I missed you, too.” Moira got back to her feet, before pulling Caldwell towards her bed. The Overboss followed, wrapping his arms around her from behind and pressing his head into her shoulder.

“You want me to stay?”

“I do. If the rest of the world won’t miss you for one night.”

“Then I’ll stay.” Caldwell turned Moira around and kissed her deeply, “Would you like another round?”

“God, yes.”

* * *

**April 6th, 2288.**

As morning dawned on Nuka World, Witch was panicking. Throwing on his clothing as quickly as he could, he released a string of profanity through his teeth. He’d completely lost track of time the night before, and hadn’t returned home.

“Witch, relax,” Gage rolled his eye as he tightened his eyepatch against the mangled side of his face, “The ship’ll keep sailing smooth without you there for one night.”

“But I gave Moira so much shit about her staying with Caldwell,  _ and _ we were supposed to meet about making the Rocket actually liveable for a larger group of people,  _ and _ -”

“Witch. Relax.” Gage grabbed Witch by the shoulders and held him still.

“Okay. Okay. You’re right. It’s fine.”

“Of course I’m right,” Gage pressed a kiss to Witch’s forehead, “Besides, it’s only nine thirty, it’s not like-”

“ _Nine_ _thirty?!_ ” The color drained from Witch’s face and he sprinted from the room, grabbing his shoes to pull the on as he went.

“Jesus Christ, sometimes I can’t believe I fuck you.” Gage put a hand to his face as he watched the Harbinger go.

* * *

Witch had known Moira for long enough to know she prefered to start her mornings around eight, and he’d had no idea he’d slept in so late. Breezing past Xian Jun and the few other Harbingers in the communal room, the second rushed to the Banshee’s office and bedroom, throwing open the door.

“Moira holy shit, I’m sorry I’m late, I-  _ oh god! _ ” Witch covered his eyes as Moira sat up groggily in bed, the sheets falling away from her breasts.

“Witch, stop yelling,” she grumbled, rubbing at her eyes.

“What the  _ fuck _ , man?” Caldwell asked tiredly, blinking and rubbing his eyes as he too sat up. Witch’s hand dropped to his side.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Fucking your boss, the  _ fuck _ does it look like?”

Witch looked to Moira, careful to keep his gaze on her face. The Banshee merely shrugged.

“It’s fine, Witch. Go get breakfast and I’ll be out soon.” Moira waved her hand dismissively as she dropped back to the bed. Witch remained rooted to the spot, still in shock. With an annoyed sigh, Caldwell rolled out of bed, unintentionally exposing himself to the Harbinger’s second.

“Agh! Alright, I’m going!” Witch turned on his heel before leaving the room, shutting the door a little too sharply.

“All night, Witch,” Caldwell called after him, “All  _ fuckin’ _ night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song playing on Moira's radio when she returned from dinner was "Song #3" by Stone Sour.


	33. Shape Of Things To Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After checking in with the Brotherhood of Steel, Rhiannon selects who will join her in the Glowing Sea, but not everyone is happy with the result. As Nuka World gears up for their invasion, Caldwell and Moira have a lot of sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter description is not kidding. Caldwell and Moira bang for a pretty big chunk of a 10k chapter. If a long smut scene in which multiple surfaces are used is not your scene, then you can go ahead and ditch after the party leaves the Castle for the Glowing Sea... but we know why you're really here.
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Audioslave.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY THREE**

**SHAPE OF THINGS TO COME**

* * *

**April 6th, 2288.**

“Congratulations,” Ronnie drawled, looking out at the number of worn out individuals before her, “You’ve managed to withstand a month of the harshest, most rigorous survival training my years of experience have to offer.”

“I _hate_ you.” Simon gasped, bent over with an arm on Lily’s to steady himself as he fought to keep from throwing up.

“You’ll be _thanking_ me once you’re in the Glowing Sea, where even the _Radroaches_ will ruin your day.” The older woman rolled her eyes, “Now go on and get some rest. General Kennedy should be back from her excursion in a day or two.”

“I can’t believe I miss the Combat Zone,” Cait groaned, slowly dragging herself towards the barracks.

“Am I dead?” Lily asked, leaning heavily on Simon as he righted himself. “I think I died.”

“If this is heaven, there are _way_ fewer dogs than I was led to believe,” MacCready frowned.

“Nope. This is _hell_.” Simon responded as the group shuffled out of the courtyard.

“Kinda cute that you’d think any of us were goin’ to heaven.” Cait looked back with a smirk.

“If I’m not dead then I’m going to slip into something more comfortable,” Lily sighed. “A coma. Wake me up when Rhiannon gets back.”

“Can’t,” MacCready’s pace quickened as they neared the barracks and the beds inside, “I’ll be asleep too.”

“Same.” Simon added.

“Where the fuck is she, anyhow?” Cait asked.

* * *

“Welcome back, Knight Kennedy.” Lancer Captain Kells saluted as she stepped off the Vertibird.

“It’s good to be back,” Rhiannon returned the salute as she lied through her teeth.

It was anything _but_ good to be back with the Brotherhood of Steel. Rhiannon was grateful that they’d respected her insistence to return to her maiden name, but other than that, every moment she’d spent working for them had been a nightmare.

“Was your mission successful?”

“See for yourself, Lancer Captain,” Rhiannon guestured behind her as Paladin Brandis warily stepped aboard the Prydwen. Kells’ mouth dropped open for a moment, but he rushed to compose himself.

“Paladin Brandis is alive? Excellent work, Knight. I would consider your mission a _resounding_ success!” The stern airman could barely hide his pride and excitement.

“There were a few points where I thought you’d have to send someone out to retrieve _me_ ,” Rhiannon admitted. “But I’m glad to have brought the Paladin back.”

“Report your success to Elder Maxson,” Kells replied, a small smile cracking through his attempted stoicism, “He will also give you your new orders, if you have any. For now, I will have Paladin Brandis escorted to the Sickbay for an evaluation.”

Rhiannon fought the urge to sigh heavily, merely giving a salute before heading into the Prydwen. As she reached for the ladder that led into the belly of the beast, she felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Knight Kennedy?” Cherrybomb stood beside her, rocking back and forth on her feet and smiling brightly. “I wanted to show you something before you go rushing off on another mission.”

“Okay?” Rhiannon looked at the shorter woman curiously; they hadn’t spoken much after the first time they’d met, mainly because Vinny seemed to frequent Cherry’s workroom. She couldn’t imagine what the beaming blonde had in store, but curiosity got the better of her, and Rhiannon followed after the Scribe.

“Great! I know you don’t use your Power Armor very often, so I figured you needed _something_ to pack a big punch even without it. I just need to make sure it fits!” Cherry spoke excitedly as she skipped a few feet ahead.

Once they reached the workroom, and Rhiannon was glad to see it devoid of her ex-husband, she found the Scribe presenting what looked like some kind of bracer.

“Um... what is this?” Rhiannon asked helplessly, when Cherry merely held up the item proudly.

“This is your new portable power armor!” Cherry announced proudly. She grabbed Rhiannon’s arm, the one without the Pip Boy, and affixed the piece in place. “You can hide it under a coat, but it needs to be charged. It’ll store the energy of about half a fusion core, and I have a few attachments for you to try out.”

“Okay…” Rhiannon drew out the word, “But… how does it work? And… what exactly does it do?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Cherry said excitedly, digging around the clutter on her workstation. “Kerosene, spark plugs, detonator… no… aha! Here we go.”

The Scribe turned around, one hand holding a fusion core, and the other what looked like a small dart gun. “Okay, so this is the basic weapon right now, but it uses a lot of the power. I’m working on it. Institute Tech is harder to crack than you’d think. Okay, okay, okay, so you plug the core in here-”

Cherry turned over Rhiannon’s wrist, pointing to an indentation. “Leave it in for about thirty minutes before the bracer’s charge should be full, and you can get two charges out of a core. I already warmed it up for you though. Okay, so now here-”

The Scribe turned Rhiannon’s wrist back over and hooked the small tube into the front of the bracer. “That’s where this goes, then you pull this little wire out, like on your Pip Boy, and plug it in here on the side. Okay. So see that little button on the back?”

“Yeah?” Rhiannon blinked, just _barely_ following along with Cherry’s explanation.

“Aim the gun and push the button.” Cherry scuttled back to her bench, moving a few half-constructed mines and picking up a glass beaker, which she set on a chair that she scooted quickly away from the other work tables.

The Minuteman General gave a small shrug, closing her hand into a fist and using the other hand to steady and aim her arm. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the specified button. A little blue bolt of plasma energy shot out of the tube, and struck the beaker. The beaker shattered, sending little shards of glass across the workroom, but the chair beneath it began to glow bright blue. Within seconds, the chair devolved into a pile of blue ash.

“YES!” Cherry punched the air. “It worked! And you didn’t blow up!”

“I didn’t what now?”

“Goddammit, Cherry!” A nearby knight slapped his palm to his face, “Now we gotta put an order in for another fucking chair!”

“Oh, stop whining, Cormac!” Cherry shot back. “Knight Kennedy’s bracer works! Now, Knight Kennedy, that’s about a fourth of the charge, so you’ll have to be sparing with your shots. Well, you will for now. I’ll be trying to improve it as much as I can. Now I have one more attachment for right now, then you can go and see Elder Maxon.”

“Only _one_ more?” Rhiannon asked, secretly grateful for the distraction.

“For now, but I love the enthusiasm!” Cherry’s smile widened. “I’m going to perfect these before making you some bigger and better gadgets.”

The Scribe unhooked the miniature laser gun, handing it to Rhiannon before picking up what looked like a black ring, with a silver band taking up a part of the curve. The ring, however, was attached to a thin black wire and a small dial that reminded Rhiannon of the egg timer she used to use for cooking before they’d bought Codsworth.

“Okie dokie,” Cherry said, turning over Rhiannon’s hand and plugging the dial into the fusion core indent. “So there was this thing before the war called a ‘joy buzzer.’ Have you heard of those?”

Rhiannon thought back to a friend in college who’d switched to law from electrical engineering. Some asshole undid her bra strap on a hot summer day, so she bided her time, built one a little extra juice, then shocked the perpetrator in the crotch. She nearly got kicked out over the incident, but at least that guy learned his lesson…

“Yep.”

“Okay, good. This is the big kid’s version.” Cherry slipped the ring onto Rhiannon’s middle finger, the dot turned inwards and the wire against her palm, then pointed to the part in the bracer. “The dial has four settings: off, of course, a little jolt if you want to have some fun, something more like a stun baton, and something a little more… lethal. But that one takes a lot of juice. I want to make this wireless somehow but I haven’t figured that out yet, and I don’t want you to fry yourself.”

“That would be… unpleasant.” Rhiannon agreed.

“You can also turn the little metal part to the outside of your hand if you want to punch someone with it. It’s... fairly discreet. That’s the reason I want to cut the wire, as it were. No one would see it coming.”

“So… what else are you planning on adding to this thing?” Rhiannon asked, looking over the bracer curiously.

“Some version of a Stealth Boy is my next idea for it,” Cherrybomb explained, nodding back to the mechanical disarray of her projects.

“ _Your_ idea?” Cormac called from a nearby workbench as he tinkered on his laser rifle, “If you recall, _I_ gave you that idea!”

“I’m the Scribe, I’m the one who has the ideas,” Cherry argued, but she accompanied her words with a wink.

“Well, thank you very much for this… what do you call it?” Rhiannon asked, taking a half-step towards the door.

“Uh... I hadn’t thought of a name, actually,” Cherry admitted. “I was just calling it the Power Gauntlet, but that sounds stupid.”

“Well…” Rhiannon thought, deciding that it was better to not verbalize her agreement with Cherry’s statement, “How about… the-”

“Sparky-Sparky Boom Glove,” Cormac called over sarcastically.

“No, don’t encourage her!” Another Scribe chastised the Knight.

“You can call it whatever you want, Knight Kennedy,” Cherry finally said with a shrug. “It’s yours anyways.”

“I’ll come up with something, then.” Rhiannon replied, “It was good to see you again, Cherry.”

“Oh! Um... before you go...” Cherry hurried forward so they wouldn’t be overheard by her fellow Brotherhood of Steel members. “How... are things with your Minutemen? I heard some stuff on the radio.”

“Oh... They’re good,” Rhiannon answered, once her surprise at having her other life acknowledged faded. “Hard at work.”

“I’ll bet! They sound like they’re spreading all over the Commonwealth,” Cherry said, bouncing a little on her feet. “And it sounds like they’re really doing some good for the people down there. You must be so proud.”

“I am,” Rhiannon smiled, “I’ve got some great people working with me, and I couldn’t do it without them.”

“I hope they can work with the Brotherhood,” Cherry continued emphatically. “I think together we could really make a huge difference. Maybe in more places than just the Commonwealth.”

“W-well, I _am_ the General,” Rhiannon laughed nervously. “It’s all my call.”

Cherry looked incredibly ecstatic. “You really have to mention it to Elder Maxson then! Oh, speaking of Elder Maxson, I’ve completely commandeered you and kept you from your meeting! I’m so sorry, Knight Kennedy. I’ll see you later.”

“It’s alright. I’m... I’m excited to try out the bracer in the field,” Rhiannon said reassuringly. “I’ll talk to you later, Scribe Morse.”

As Cherry turned back to her workstation, Rhiannon exited the room and quickly passed through the cafeteria, dodging past Paladin Danse as he spoke with someone she didn’t recognize. Within moments she was at the ladder again, on the other side: the Elder’s quarters. Pushing away the urge to scramble back down the ladder and run away, Rhiannon stepped around the hole in the floor. She almost hoped for someone else to tap her shoulder, but after a few moments with no further rescue in sight, Rhiannon knocked on the heavy metal door.

“Come in, Knight.” Maxson’s voice called from the other side.

Turning the handle, Rhiannon pushed the door open. Maxson’s chambers were fairly large, larger than her room in Sanctuary, but smaller than the Castle’s war room. The Brotherhood Elder was seated at a table, a small glass of vodka and a cigar resting in an ashtray before him. On the near end of the table, an antique globe idly rotated, as if very recently spun.

“I’ve been told your mission to recover Recon Squad Artemis was a success,” Maxson spoke, gesturing to the seat across from him, “Tremendous work, Knight. Paladin Brandis, whether he is fit for field duty again or not, will be an asset to our mission in the Commonwealth.”

“You’re welcome, Elder,” Rhiannon replied carefully, choosing to stay standing by the door. “I was… relieved to find him alive and… mostly well.”

“As a reward for your outstanding work, I’d like to offer you this laser pistol,” Maxson placed the weapon upon the table, “This weapon belonged to a former Elder of the Brotherhood. Use it with pride.”

“Thank you.” Rhiannon nodded, though she was already wondering which of her companions at the Castle she’d give this to. Lifting the pistol from the desk, she read the name of the pistol, _Smuggler’s End_ , and beneath it, a neat hand had written the name ‘Lyons.’

“That weapon belonged to the Elder when I was but a scribe, Owyn Lyons.” Maxson reminisced, “When he passed, the weapon was granted to his daughter, my mentor, Sarah Lyons.”

“I’ll take good care of it,” Rhiannon promised, turning the pistol over. Maybe Lilith could get some use out of it. Or Simon could fix it up and-

“She was betrayed and murdered,” Maxson continued. At this, Rhiannon looked up from the weapon.

“I’m… sorry to hear that.”

“She was killed by one of our own. A Sentinel, no less… James Caldwell Jr.” Maxson all but spat the name, “The supposed ‘hero’ of the Capital Wasteland.”

“James Caldwell Jr.,” Rhiannon repeated, blinking in surprise. That was the man Nick and MacCready were looking into. Against what probably should have been her better judgement, Rhiannon asked, “What happened?”

“Elder Lyons, as she took her father’s position in his passing, led the Brotherhood into battle against an intelligent Super Mutant who’d raised an army. In the heat of the battle, Sentinel Caldwell provided Sara- Elder Lyons with a sabotaged Fusion Core, one that caused her armor to lock into place. She could not retreat or escape from her armor, and she was killed in battle.”

“And you’re sure he betrayed her?” Rhiannon asked. “If the Fusion Core was faulty, he might not have known-”

“Of _course_ he knew!” Maxson slammed his fist on the table, launching the contents into the air, “He planned to take over the Brotherhood from the very start! Why else would he kill Sarah?!”

“Well, if I ever meet him, I’ll ask.” Rhiannon couldn’t keep the edge of sarcasm from her tone.

“If you ever meet him, you’ll incapacitate him and bring him back to the Prydwen to stand trial for the murder of an Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, or you’ll kill him.” Maxson growled, narrowing his eyes at the woman across from him.

“Will that be all, Elder?” Rhiannon blinked, unphased by his temper tantrum.

“You should know we have our best soldiers and Scribes working on uncovering where the Institute lies,” Maxson assured her, his anger subsiding, “And despite your… _tumultuous_ relationship with Knight DiMaggio, we remain committed to returning your son to you. For now, you have no further orders. Should we have need of you, we will send word to your… _private militia_ in Fort Independence.”

“They’re actually the public militia of the Commonwealth,” Rhiannon corrected Maxson before she could stop herself. “The Minutemen protect everyone.”

“My apologies,” Maxson replied, his tone carrying the eye roll that his face did not, “Nonetheless, I would recommend you not get _too_ entangled in such matters. The Brotherhood should be your primary focus… outside of your son, of course.”

Rhiannon had to physically bite down on her tongue to keep from telling Maxson he was shit out of luck in that regard. Her knuckles whitened around her new gun, and it took her a moment to find any words that were not profanities. “Will that be all, Elder?”

“Yes.” Maxson answered, “Ad Victoriam, Knight Kennedy.”

“Ad Victoriam,” Rhiannon responded without any enthusiasm, heading back into the hall.

“Rhiannon.”

“Vincent.” Rhiannon kept her eyes focused ahead, sidestepping the figure that blocked her path to the ladder. However, her ex-husband stepped back into her way.

“How are your toy soldiers doing?” He asked, voice dripping with disdain.

“If you were smart enough to turn on a radio once in awhile, you would know.” Rhiannon again tried to circumnavigate him.

“I heard your grease monkey got himself banned from Diamond City,” The soldier continued to block her path, “How do you expect to save some backwood hicks if you can’t even keep the _help_ under control?”

“Mind your own damn business,” The General scoffed, “At least Simon knows how to wash his own clothes.”

“I- _you…_ ” Vincent seethed, “You should know that the Brotherhood is pouring nearly all their resources into finding the Institute. And when they do, _I’m_ taking Shaun back, and I’m taking _full_ custody. He deserves a better life than scraping around in the dirt.”

It took all of Rhiannon’s willpower to reign in her knee-jerk burst of rage, but once she had, she channeled it into a laugh.

“You couldn’t even take care of him when he was a baby. You think you could protect a child that can actually talk and walk and think for himself? Not to mention, while you’re up here letting the bigger kids with the shiny toys look for him, I’ve been down there ‘in the dirt’ looking for him my damn self, and I’ve made more progress than the fucking Brotherhood of Assholes and all their gadgets and self-righteousness. So just you fucking try and take my son away from me, Vinny. Just you try. I’ll do a better job of holding onto him than you did.”

The barely contained fire of Vincent’s rage turned into a full blown inferno. His fist shot back, but before it could launch out at Rhiannon-

“Knight DiMaggio, what do you think you’re doing?” Paladin Danse asked sternly, the fingers of his power armor curled around Vinny’s forearm. Rhiannon never thought she’d be relieved to see Danse, but now she could hardly remember feeling so grateful to see anyone.

“Paladin Danse, this is a _personal_ matter-” Vincent attempted to protest.

“Brawling between personnel is strictly prohibited,” The Paladin warned, “And I expected better from you. This incident will be reported to Elder Maxson, and he shall decide what is to be done regarding this incident.”

Danse released Vincent’s forearm, and the Knight immediately rubbed his arm where the Paladin’s power armored grip had clamped onto him. Offering both his ex-wife and superior a hateful glare, Vinny stalked off towards the Cafeteria, kicking over an ammo container on his way.

“Are you alright, Knight Kennedy?” Danse asked once Vincent was gone.

“Yeah... maybe.” Rhiannon let out the breath she’d been holding, and the tension in her shoulders. “Thank you, Danse.”

“Not a problem, Knight.” Danse nodded, always all too formal, “I couldn’t stand by and watch.”

“Not everyone feels the same way. I really do appreciate it.” Rhiannon ran a hand through her hair. “I’m going to head out now, but… I owe you one.”

“That’s not necessary, but I appreciate the sentiment.” Danse saluted, “Good luck out there, Knight. Ad Victoriam.”

“Ad Victoriam, Paladin.”

* * *

“Thank you again for a lovely evening,” Caldwell turned over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of Moira as he pulled on his pants, “I think it went well, all things considered. Despite the rude awakening, I would consider doing it again.”

“Your place next time,” Moira agreed, stretching out on her bed. “Despite our interruption last time, it’s usually quieter.”

“And the bed’s bigger,” Caldwell added, “And I have more available locations than a just bed and a desk.”

“A bed, a desk, and a _couch_ ,” the Banshee deadpanned.

“Several couches,” Caldwell corrected, “And a bar counter.”

“Well, next time we’ll set aside an evening and put them all to good use.” Finally, she rolled out of bed and began to choose her clothing for the day.

“When will ‘next time’ be, by the way?” Caldwell asked as he pulled his coat over his shoulders, “I imagine we’ll have a few days before going after the Gunners, if you want to get some time in before we leave for the Commonwealth.”

“Definitely. I don’t want my dinner plans ruined by one of us getting filled with bullets.”

“That would certainly be a tremendous disappointment.”

“How about in three days?”

“That sounds quite doable,” Caldwell smirked, crossing over to Moira’s side of the room to capture her in a brief kiss, “I’ll make sure it’s in my calendar.”

“Good. I imagine even Witch will be happy knowing we’re keeping a schedule now.” Moira’s arms wrapped around Caldwell’s neck, and she leaned up to kiss him again.

“I doubt it,” Caldwell rolled his eyes in the brief moment between kisses.

“He means well, he’s just protective,” Moira assured him, “He might as well be my brother, and he acts like it.”

“He’d better get used to it.” Caldwell kissed Moira again, “Or else I’ll fuck you right in front of him.”

“I’ll say it now: I would never consent to that.” Still, the Banshee smirked, one hand idly moving to run along the lapel of Caldwell’s coat.

“Fair enough,” Caldwell shrugged, “I’ll just settle for marking you all over. Send you back home with bite marks and the like.”

“Or you could not antagonize my most trusted and closest friend, and perhaps try to find a common ground with him.”

“The most we have in common is Gage, and our relationships with him are quite different.”

“You might find yourselves surprised.” Moira muted any further reply to her words with another kiss.

“I should get going,” Caldwell said after they broke away, “I need to see Gage about getting the invasion started, set up a meeting with Kilmister…”

“And I should get some lists together and figure out who I’m bringing to the assault.” In spite of their mutual agreement, however, neither raider moved to leave. “Or... you could have breakfast before you go.”

“I certainly _could_ go for breakfast,” Caldwell hummed, “Maybe another helping of _you_.”

“I think I could oblige that,” Moira replied, pressing closer to the Overboss. “But we both have business. So let’s stick to food.”

“Ugh… three days feels too far away.” Caldwell sighed.

A rapping knock interrupted them, followed by Sinead’s voice. “Banshee? Witch said you were awake. There’s food for you in the common room, and Fontayne has some volunteers for the raid on Gunner Plaza.”

“I’ll be right there,” Moira called. She slowly extracted herself from Caldwell’s embrace, moving for the door. “Will you stay? Or will I see you later?”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Only if it doesn’t interfere with your work.”

“Then I’ll stay.”

* * *

“We got eyes on a Vertibird!” A Minuteman called back to Ronnie and Preston from the wall.

“Is it making a run on the raiders on the docks near General Atomics, or is it headed our way?” Ronnie asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with a hand.

“Our way- wait. It’s veering towards the empty lot…” The Minuteman called, “It’s touching down… someone’s getting out… it’s the General! General Kennedy has returned!”

“You go greet the General,” Ronnie pat Preston on the back, “I’ll go wake up the away team for her.”

“Yes, Colonel Shaw,” Preston replied, fighting to keep his face from splitting into a wide smile. The Minuteman set off at a light jog, hurrying down to meet Rhiannon on her walk up to the Castle.

“The hero returns!” Rhiannon called up to Preston. She picked up her pace to meet him for a warm hug. Preston held her tightly, trying not to breathe too deeply as he caught the scent of her hair. Feeling his chest tighten, the Colonel stepped back.

“Everything go smoothly without us, General?”

“More or less.” Rhiannon shrugged, falling into step with Preston as they headed back up the hill at a much more relaxed pace. “About as well as a trip to the Brotherhood can go, I suppose.”

“Vinny give you any trouble?”

“Of course, but someone else up there had my back. It’ll be fine.”

Despite her insistence, Preston still looked troubled. However, he didn’t have time to press the issue further.

“Bark!” Dogmeat sprinted from the broken wall and all but threw himself at Rhiannon.

“Hey, boy!” Rhiannon wrapped her arms around the dog as he excitedly bounced up, paws on her shoulders, to lick her face. “I missed you, too. Okay, down!”

Dogmeat obeyed, getting back to the ground, but circling around her as Simon, Lily, MacCready, Cait, and Nick approached.

“Glad to see you in one piece,” Valentine smiled, “How are you doing, kid?”

“I’m still breathing,” Rhiannon said back with a smile of her own. “How were things here without me?”

“Well, Ronnie ran ‘em ragged with her survival training, but they’ll live.”

“We fuckin’ _better_ after that shite,” Cait added, “Simon threw up twice this mornin.’”

“This has been a bad month for me.” The mechanic confirmed with a frown.

“I thought I’d have to amputate my leg I got a cramp so bad,” Lily whined. “You’re never allowed to leave us with her again.”

“We’ll make sure you’re all safe in Sanctuary next time,” Rhiannon laughed. She tried very hard not to look at Simon for too long.

“What do you say we get some food?” Nick asked the group, “And by that I mean _you_ get some food while _I_ sit at the table and watch you eat.”

“All of my everything hurts too much to eat,” Lilith complained.

“Eating will help if you pace yourselves,” Preston replied, “And I’m sure Rhiannon has some stories and information to share with us.”

“I do, actually.” Rhiannon’s wide smile faded. “I have some more information on James Caldwell Jr., and I have a new gadget for Simon to take a peek at. _And_ -”

The General pulled Smuggler’s End from her belt and held it out to Lilith, “I thought this might pack a better punch than the pipe pistol you’re using now.”

“Holy shit! Neat!” Lilith took the gun and immediately began to turn it over in her hands, examining it excitedly. “Thanks, Rhiannon!”

“War Room in ten?” Simon asked, looking around the group.

“War Room in ten,” Rhiannon confirmed with a nod, “Let’s get some food and drinks. And some of the wine, if there’s any left. We might need it.”

* * *

“Welcome back boss,” Gage drawled as the lift carried Caldwell back into the Fizztop Grille, a small cloud of smoke drifting around the second’s head, “Have fun sneaking out like a goddamn teenager?”

“Shut up Gage,” Caldwell droned, walking over to the bar to retrieve a cigar, “I need you to do something for me ahead of the assault on Gunner Plaza.”

“What, you want me to polish your fuckin’ boots?”

“I want you to put the word out to the Doomed. We’re looking for a specific Gunner. Name’s Deckard. Attacked the town of Salem. I want to know if he’s alive, and if so, where he is.” Caldwell found a seat at his desk, rifling through the drawers for his lighter.

“Deckard. Got it.” Gage blinked, “What’s the deal with ‘im, anyway? Some kind of big deal we gotta watch out for?”

“Probably not,” Caldwell shrugged.

“Then why are you giving a shit?” Gage asked.

“Because if I had the chance to kill the people who made me who I am, I would most certainly do it. The least I can do is offer that satisfaction to another.” Caldwell answered vaguely, “Now get to work.”

* * *

When the double doors had closed behind them, and when everyone was seated at the War Room table with their plates of food, cans of water, and empty glasses for wine, Rhiannon took a deep breath.

“MacCready, what do you know about James Caldwell Jr.’s relationship with the Brotherhood of Steel?”

MacCready blinked and looked up from his Radstag steak, “Well… he was like… their poster boy for awhile. ‘Fighting the good fight,’ as Three Dog would say-”

“Who’s Three Dog?” Simon asked.

“A DJ who’d put Travis to shame,” MacCready responded, “Anyway, he joined up so he could kick some Enclave ass. After the assault on Adams Air Force Base, where they took ‘em down for good, he stuck with ‘em for awhile. I even heard that he was basically third or fourth in line to take over the Brotherhood at one point. But then the next thing we hear, the Elder’s dead, and Jay Jay just up and leaves.”

“Well, from what I just heard this morning,” Rhiannon sighed, “James may have killed the Elder. Whether intentionally or unintentionally, I’m not sold on just yet.”

“Had to have been an accident,” MacCready protested immediately, “I mean, I wasn’t one of those starry-eyed kids like Lucy or Bumble who ‘shipped’ James and Sarah, but there’s _no way_ he’d’ve killed her on purpose.”

“Maxson claims James was looking to take over the Brotherhood the entire time, and that was a part of his plan.”

“Maxson was younger than _me_ back then,” MacCready countered, “He probably picked that up from some Brotherhood bigwig who didn’t like Caldwell. If he was _really_ trying to take over the Brotherhood, he wouldn’t’ve left.”

“That’s what I thought, too.” Rhiannon nodded. “It didn’t add up, but I wonder if that’s the time he started getting involved with some of his new, shadier dealings.”

“Speaking of,” Valentine interrupted, “We’ve been keeping an eye on Crawford this past month. He hasn’t made any moves, and we’ve kept tabs on that spot in the tunnels where you’d found him with his radio. However, we haven’t found where he stashed it. Also, he’s been getting pretty close to one of the new recruits, a brunette number named Arabella.”

“You think she’s another... plant?” Rhiannon asked, unsure of her descriptor. “Maybe they’re replacing Vasco since he’s been compromised?”

“Could be,” Valentine shrugged. “We’ve got our eyes on her too.”

“Good. Let’s keep them that way.” Rhiannon nodded, “Simon?”

“Yes?” The mechanic looked up from his plate of mole rat chunks.

“Can you take a look at this?” Rhiannon detached the bracer from her right arm and passed it to the mechanic. Simon turned it over in his hands quizzically.

“Hmm. Well, it appears to be some sort of fusion… battery? Like it stores and reroutes energy from fusion cores.”

“No weird tracking or listening devices?” Rhiannon asked. Simon took a little longer to examine the intricacies of it.

“Not that I can see. Wiring looks… well, it looks done professionally, but the whole device looks like it’s only working thanks to dumb luck. Who built this thing?”

“Scribe Morse. Cherrybomb.”

“That explains it,” Simon sighed, “Well, it’s probably not spying on you and it’s probably not going to blow up on you… but other than that, I’m not entirely sure what it’s for. It _looks_ like it can support different attachments and gadgets, but… this thing’s a mystery to me.”

“I guess she based it on some Institute tech she pulled apart.” Rhiannon took the bracer back and hooked it to her wrist. “Thanks for taking a look.”

“No problem.”

“So, the Glowing Sea,” Rhiannon sighed, leaning back in her seat.

“Oh, _that_ can of worms…” MacCready groaned.

“Well, everyone at the table is equipped and trained to handle the journey,” Preston said, “We’ve all had survival training-”

“My legs haven’t stopped hurting,” Simon interjected.

“And Nick doesn’t have to worry about the radiation,” The Colonel continued, “So I guess at this point it comes down to who you want to bring with you, and who takes power armor.”

“How many suits of power armor do we have again?” Lily asked, leaning her folded arms atop the table.

“Three.” Preston held up as many fingers, “And I _think_ we have two hazmat suits, but those won’t provide any armor whatsoever.”

Rhiannon did a quick count on her fingers. “Well, there are six of us, not counting Nick or Dogmeat. Not everyone can come along.”

“We’re not taking Dogmeat,” Lily argued, sitting up.

“No, of _course_ not,” Rhiannon agreed, “But that means someone has to stay back with him.”

“Well, I assumed you’d have me stay at the Castle anyways,” Preston said with a shrug “But if you need me to come along, General, just say the word.”

“Why don’t we draw lots?” MacCready suggested, “That way it’s up to chance.”

“That sounds fair,” Lily agreed, pulling the broken chopsticks from her pocket.

“Smallest stick stays?” Rhiannon looked to the group as she reached across to take the lots.

“If that’s the case, Simon’s gonna be left behind.” MacCready smirked.

“If that’s the case, Simon’s the first in line to go.” Lilith glared over at the rifleman.

“We only have your word for it,” Cait grinned like a hungry cat, “C’mon boys, whip ‘em out. Show, don’t tell.”

“Or we could just draw the lots and stop talking about people’s sticks.” Preston’s cheeks reddened.

“Good idea,” Rhiannon agreed quickly, also turning a bright shade of red as she tried not to think about the size of Simon’s…

Shaking her head, Rhiannon shuffled the heights of the chopsticks under the table, then displayed them to her friends. Each one took a turn taking one of the stick from the General’s grasp, laying their lot on the table. Once all were drawn and displayed for all to see, they were measured.

“Sorry Lily,” Rhiannon frowned over, “I guess you’re staying home.”

“Look on the bright side,” MacCready pat his fellow merc on the back, “You get to take care of Dogmeat.”

“That’s true.” Lily twirled the short piece of chopstick between her fingers, looking over to the longer one in front of Simon. “Are you sure this is really fair though? I-I mean Simon hasn’t had a chance to go home and check on his reinforcements, or on Percy. What if the Red Rocket was raided? Maybe he should stay.”

“We drew lots fair and square,” Cait protested, “He had a fair chance of gettin’ out of it, like the rest of us did.”

“But-”

“Lily,” Simon set his hand over hers, “I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with shit like the Glowing Sea before, and now I’ve got survival training.”

“Well... except- it’s just-” Lilith tried to come up with an argument, but nothing manifested. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his shoulder.

“He’ll be okay,” Rhiannon reached across the table to set a hand on Lily’s shoulder, “I _promise_.”

“So… next order of business is that power armor,” Preston awkwardly attempted to move the conversation along without coming across as insensitive, “Obviously, the people getting closest to the action should be wearing them, so that would be Rhiannon, Cait, and Simon, am I right?”

“See?” Simon murmured into Lily’s ear, “I’m getting power armor. I’ll be fine.”

“Right,” Rhiannon confirmed. “You and MacCready are both better suited for long range, so you’ll get the hazmat suits, and we’ll try to keep everything off of you.”

“Well, wait,” MacCready argued, “If I’m off in the back by myself and something comes up behind us, all I have to protect me is a plastic bag?”

“A plastic bag, Preston, and me,” Nick retorted dryly, lighting a cigarette, “Don’t forget _I’m_ coming along too.”

“Okay, but Simon can’t even shoot straight. Why does he get the good gear?”

“Because he’s going to be in the thick of things, and I can’t fit into a suit of power armor,” Valentine rolled his eyes, “Though maybe if I cut down on the fancy lads I might be able to in time for the summer.”

“Fine.” The rifleman rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and sulking.

“Are you at least gonna get a bigger gun than that little peashooter you’ve got?” Simon asked, looking up from comforting Lilith for a moment to address the Synth, “I’m sure we can get you something that’ll pack a bigger punch.”

“You could take the one Rhiannon brought for me,” Lily offered, sitting back in her seat finally. “I won’t need it for dog sitting.”

“Didn’t we pick up a new assault rifle or something when we saved Vadim?” Simon asked, “If so, I can fix that up for Rhiannon, and you can use her old submachine gun.”

“Then you’ll fit right in with the Triggermen,” MacCready snarked.

“We should give you all a little time to rest up before we go,” Rhiannon looked around the table at the still-weary faces of her friends, “We’ll set out in… three days?”

“Works for me,” Simon agreed.

“Of course, General,” Preston saluted almost instinctually before correcting himself, “I mean… Rhiannon.”

“Okay,” Rhiannon sighed and nodded to the room, “Go get some rest. We’ll need it.”

Slowly, everyone began to file out of the War Room. Simon had to detach himself from Lily’s grip in order to stand, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder as they exited. Valentine was the last to exit, and as he reached back to shut the door, Rhiannon could swear she saw a spasm jolt through his hand.

* * *

“So just to clarify,” Kilmister’s voice cracked over Caldwell’s radio, “The Minutemen, Gunners, and the Brotherhood of Steel are absolutely off limits.”

“Correct.” The Overboss affirmed.

“Shit, man. Gunners would’ve been good customers.”

“Not when they’re dead.”

“Fair enough,” Caldwell could visualize the arms dealer’s shrug, “Are there any settlements that are off limits?”

“Hmm…” Caldwell paused for a moment, “You can sell to settlements. That way you can make some extra money on the side. But I don’t want to hear about any local yokel getting sold a fuckin’ gauss rifle.”

“Yeah, yeah. Small arms only. I got’cha, man,” Kilmister replied, his voice partially buried under static briefly, “Well, it’ll be good to see you motherfuckers in the Commonwealth. One step closer to getting me my fuckin’ factory.”

“And we will. As soon as we’ve taken over the Gunner Plaza, we’ll start planning to take on the Forged. Hopefully, people will mistake us for some kind of… antiheroic alternative to the Minutemen until it’s too late.”

“People love a good antihero,” Kilmister confirmed, “I’ll see ya when I sees ya.”

With a click the radio connection severed. Caldwell deactivated his radio and hung up the receiver.

* * *

**April 7th, 2288.**

“Lilith, I’ll be fine,” Simon sighed as he shoved a screwdriver into his toolkit, “My aim’s getting better, I’ll be in power armor, and-”

“Your aim’s getting _better_ , sure, but the reason you’re in power armor is because everyone expects you up front. Come on, sugar, you know I can handle myself. Take Dogmeat back to Sanctuary and check on Percy.”

“I’ll have Rhiannon and Cait with me, plus Valentine, Preston, and MacCready watching my back,” The mechanic grabbed a wrench from the nearby shelf and added it to his collection, “It’s not like I’m going in alone or with strangers. Besides, we drew lots fair and square, and I promised I’d help Rhiannon find her son.”

“What if you freeze up?” Lilith countered, catching his arm and turning him to face her. “I know you faced down some shit in the Mojave and the Sea’s gonna be pretty damn bad. If you panic-”

“Then I’ll have Rhiannon, Cait, Valentine, Preston, and MacCready watching my back.” Simon repeated, cupping the merc’s cheek with a hand, “I swear, you’re more worried about this than I am.”

“Because I don’t want to lose you.” Lily blinked rapidly, but a tear slipped down her cheek anyways. “Let me go, please.”

“Lily… I’m not gonna back out because it might be hard or dangerous. I’m not that kind of person anymore.” Simon replied softly, pressing his lips to her forehead.

“But... you _like_ being alone, Simon. I don’t.”

“You’ll have Dogmeat, though. Your favourite.” Simon attempted to give a reassuring smile. Lilith huffed in frustration.

“And I’ll be worrying about you the entire time.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise,” Simon kissed Lily on the cheek, “I gotta go head into the tunnels and see if I can find Crawford’s radio. I’ll see you at… supper?”

Lilith didn’t answer, her head still turned from his kiss as she stared at the far wall. With a sigh, Simon hefted up his tool bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he headed towards the armory. Once he’d left, Lilith took a deep breath. She knew he’d faced things like the Sea before, but that was precisely what frightened her.

Over the past month, they’d divulged more about their lives to one another; he now knew how she’d ended up with her Synth family, and she knew more about the Mojave, though she still felt there were some things he carried close to his chest. She still didn’t know the exact details of his departure, and even when he’d mentioned The Divide, he refused to elaborate upon it, or upon a figure he’d called Ulysses.

What she _did_ know was that whatever had happened had left deep scars on the man she loved, and the trauma was what made his hands shake, his knees lock up, and his body freeze in the heat of battle. And she was haunted by images of what could happen to him out there if his memories paralyzed him. And there was one figure in those images that troubled her, the person she now hurried through the halls of the Castle to find.

Standing in the door of the Castle’s dining room, Lily scanned the faces seated at the tables and benches until she found MacCready; the rifleman seemingly in the midst of telling a story to a few of the new Minuteman recruits. Lily walked along the wall until she found a place to lean in MacCready’s eyeline. Spotting her after a moment, the rifleman excused himself and headed over.

“Hey,” He nodded, “What’s up?”

“We need to talk.”

“Uhh… alright.” MacCready blinked, not entirely sure where Lily was going with this. “Where should we take this? It’s a little crowded in here.”

“Outside’s fine.” Lilith grabbed his wrist and began to drag the rifleman along.

“Whoa, okay, I’m coming… Jesus…” MacCready protested as he rushed to keep pace with his partner, “What’s all this about?”

“You and Simon.” Lily stopped dead once they found a secluded hall, rounding to face him. “I know you don’t like him, but he’s counting on you in the Glowing Sea.”

“Yeah,” MacCready’s eyes narrowed slightly, “What, you think I’m gonna shoot him in the back?”

“No, not directly. But you might just conveniently not notice if he’s in trouble.”

“What?!” MacCready’s mouth dropped open, “Rook, what the hell?!”

“All I’m saying is that if you love me, you’re going to do _everything_ in your power to bring him home, alive, in one piece. Because if I hear that something happened out there and you could have prevented it, so help me God, Robert, you’ll never see me again.”

MacCready instinctively paled at Lily’s tone, his mouth nearly dropping open, “Of course. He’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Without another word, Lily headed off, leaving MacCready behind. She was satisfied for now, but the fear of losing Simon was constant. Would it be enough? The others had themselves to worry about, too. Lost in her thoughts, Lilith didn’t realize where her feet were carrying her until she found herself in the basement tunnels, Simon ahead of her.

“Simon.”

“Lily?” Simon turned from the old brick wall he’d been examining, “What-”

Lilith silenced him with a hungry kiss, grabbing the front of his shirt and shoving him up against the wall. The mechanic hesitated for a moment due to the sudden nature of the kiss, but quickly reciprocated, his arms wrapping around the mercenary, one idly rubbing small circles on her back, the other reaching down to grab her ass.

Lily pressed closer, hooking her ankle around his and pulling one of Simon’s legs between her own, beginning to grind against him as her hands rapidly unbuttoned his flannel.

“Lily-” Simon struggled to speak amidst their kisses, “Bed. There.”

Still kissing him frantically, her hands balled in the front of his now open shirt, Lilith pulled Simon to the nearby bunk that had been left in the tunnel. She shoved him onto the mattress and immediately followed him down, straddling him and resuming the kiss.

“Slow down,” Simon broke the kiss, putting a hand on Lily’s shoulder, “You almost knocked my head on the headboard there.”

“I need you,” Lily replied breathlessly, rolling her hips against him in search of friction. Her mouth trailed down his jaw and neck as her hands roved his torso.

“Take a second and get us undressed, and you’ll have me.” Simon countered, trying to escape the trappings of his clothes with Lily on top of him. Reluctantly, Lilith moved to the side, hurriedly undressing herself and then making quick work of the fastenings on Simon’s pants. As soon as they were open, a hand moved to stroke his cock.

“You’re… uhhh… pretty eager today…” Simon chuckled a little nervously, “What do you want?”

“You,” Lily replied, leaning in for a kiss, but slowing her hand as the other continued to pull at his pants. “We have a few hours until it’s time to eat and I want you the whole time.”

“Any…” Simon gasped as her hand squeezed him, “Anything in particular you want to do?”

“I wanna make you feel good,” Lily breathed, finally managing to get Simon’s pants over his hips. Immediately, she moved to straddle him again, her hand slowing its ministrations even further, but not ceasing.

“You can start with your mouth,” Simon hissed as her gentle touch toyed with him. With a small smile, the mercenary kissed him, then trailed her lips eagerly down his chest and abdomen. She paused to kiss along his hips, then along his length before happily taking him into her mouth.

“Oh… my… God…” Simon gasped as she bobbed her head quickly, her hand still moving in time. Lilith’s tongue pressed against him at irregular intervals, her eyes affixed to his face as she sucked.

“J-Jesus!” Simon cursed, “If you keep at it, I’m gonna…”

Lilith lifted her head from his cock, but gave the length one more slow lick from base to tip. “Then fuck me.”

Simon took hold of the back of Lily’s head, pulling her lips to his. After a moment, he gently guided her onto her back, resting the mercenary’s head upon the pillow before grabbing his length and teasing her with it.

“Say please.”

“Please, Simon,” Lily moaned, one leg wrapping around his hips. “Fuck me, please.”

“As you wish,” Simon inserted himself with a quick and deep thrust. Lily gasped, her head pressing back into the pillows. Simon’s pace started slow, slower than usual, but he more than made up for it as his lips found Lilith’s neck, chest, and breasts.

“Simon,” Lily breathed his name a few times, chanting it like a mantra or prayer, “Simon… fuck, it’s so good.”

“Do you want it faster?” The mechanic asked, pulling his teeth away from where he’d been nibbling on her collar.

“Yes, please,” Lily replied quickly, one hand reaching up to grab the headboard while the other grasped his shoulder. Simon immediately obliged, the slowed thrusts coming faster with each stroke until Lilith could make no sound but breathless moans. Her eyes shut as she tipped her head back, rocking herself into each thrust to help it hit deeper.

“Are you… are you close?” Simon asked after a few more minutes, his forehead pressed against hers.

“Yeah,” Lily gasped once she’d found her voice. “Yeah… getting… getting there… Oh, Simon. Simon, I love you.”

“I love you too Lily,” Simon crashed his lips against hers, sealing their mouths together in a hungry kiss, “I’m… soon.”

“Yeah,” Lily moaned back, her other leg wrapping around him. “Yeah, Simon, Simon, S-Simon!”

With a final cry of his name, Lilith hit her climax, her fingernails digging into Simon’s shoulder and her legs squeezing, ankles digging in to pull him deeper.

“Lily, I’m-” Simon attempted to warn her of his approaching orgasm, but Lilith’s legs remained locked around him as the mechanic’s moment came. “Lily!”

Feeling him finish, Lily gasped, another, smaller orgasm rushing through her. “F-fuck... Oh, God. Oh, Simon.”

“Lily…” Simon sighed, almost a little too worn out to speak, “I… inside…”

“It felt good, though,” Lily breathed back, capturing him in a kiss. Simon kissed back, running a hand through her hair.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Lily rested a hand on his cheek, her thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone.

“Once this Glowing Sea shit is done… we’re going back to the Red Rocket,” Simon sighed contentedly, “Just… however long we can get of just you and me… and my robots.”

Lilith laughed softly, kissing him again. “That sounds nice.”

“Percy will be glad to see you,” Simon rolled his eyes, “Did I mention how often he mentions you? Pretty sure I did. I think he misses having you around.”

“I miss him, too.” Lilith’s other hand began to trace circles over Simon’s shoulder blades. “Maybe we should get a dog. Our own dog, since all we do is borrow Rhiannon’s.”

“I’m not opposed to the idea of getting a pet…” Simon said after a moment, “But I’m _not_ going to bring anything back from the Glowing Sea. We’ll get something when I get back. Like a dog… or a cat.”

“What if I want a pet Deathclaw?”

“Then you’re out of luck, _sugar_.”

* * *

**April 9th, 2288.**

After some well deserved rest, they were ready… or as ready as they’d ever be. There was a heavy, tense quiet between the members of Rhiannon’s party as they picked up the bags they’d packed and double-checked their guns. Despite all the preparation in the world, nothing could _truly_ prepare them for what the Glowing Sea would have to offer.

Still, there was no hesitation. No urge to back down, hide away, or abandon the cause. Dangerous as it may be, the party was committed to their path, to each other, to Rhiannon’s noble quest to bring home her lost son.

And in those circles of hell, they’d find Virgil, and he’d lead them to the Institute, to Shaun.

* * *

“I know I’m early,” Moira said, stepping into the grille as the lift came to its peak. While she’d forgone the jacket she usually paired with it, the Banshee had again chosen to wear her red dress, knowing the Overboss was fond of it. “The afternoon was slow.”

“It’s alright,” Caldwell responded, looking up from his Pip-Boy. The Overboss was, in a rare moment, out of his long coat. Instead, he appeared half-dressed, wearing a sleeveless undershirt and athletic pants, “I only recently returned from some business with the Doomed and started selecting music.”

“Not whatever shit you tried to play the first time you invited me here, I hope.” Moira smirked. “I’ve never liked the saxophone.”

Caldwell rolled his eyes and pressed the play button, leaving his Pip-Boy plugged into the speaker system as he crossed back to the bar to retrieve a pair of glasses and bottle of wine. The first song began with a brief strum on an acoustic guitar and a piano note before the sound of a car starting signaled a drawn out organ note.

_“Come with me… Into the trees… We'll lay on the grass… And let the hours pass...”_

“Wearing the red dress again so soon?” Caldwell laughed as he poured them each a glass.

“Well, you seem to enjoy seeing me in it, and taking it off of me.” Moira leaned on the bar, taking her glass.

“Oh, I certainly do,” Caldwell smirked, clinking his glass to hers.

“So,” Moira spoke after taking a long drink of her wine. Her fingers found his hand, nails gently running along his skin. “Where do you want me first?”

“Well…” Caldwell hummed, taking a moment to drink his wine, “We could start on the far end of the room, on the couch, and work our way over to the bed.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.” Moira’s eyes were already dark with lust, and she finished her glass of wine in another quick drink. “Now, are we counting the floor in our pathway?”

“If you want it to.” Caldwell responded before downing the rest of the glass as quickly as he could. Moira stepped out of her shoes and began to walk back toward the couches.

_“Let me see you stripped down to the bone… Let me see you stripped down to the bone…”_

“Shall I keep the dress on, or would you like to take it off?”

Caldwell answered with a kiss, a hand pulling Moira’s lips to his for a moment, “Bend over the arm.”

The Banshee raised an eyebrow, but did as he asked, leaning over the arm of the far couch. Gently, Caldwell pulled her dress up over her hips, squeezing her ass with one hand as he idly fumbled with his pants with the other. Once they were low enough, the Overboss began to tease the Banshee with his fingers.

Moira released a contented sigh, resting her elbows on the couch’s seat cushions. She was in no rush to finish tonight, and merely savored his touch. Caldwell certainly seemed to be in no rush either, taking his time to explore and find all the right spots his hand could go.

“Right there,” Moira gasped suddenly, as his fingers located _just_ the right point, at _just_ the right angle. Taking the cue, Caldwell’s focus shifted to continuing the specific motion that had elicited the gasp. Within moments, her had her legs trembling, small moans escaping with every few breaths. She leaned forward, her head resting on one of her arms.

“Are you ready for my cock now?” Caldwell asked, leaning down over her.

“Yes,” Moira breathed. “James, yes.”

The Overboss removed his fingers, licking them clean before he rested one hand on Moira’s hip, the other set to guide his length into her. With a slow push, he entered, starting with deep, downtempo thrusts. She moaned for him immediately, hands clenching into fists as his more substantial length filled and stretched her.

“God, James...” Moira sighed, trying to keep as much of her composure as possible, though her legs felt ready to give.

“Moira,” Caldwell leaned down to breathe into her ear before his free hand grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking her head back as the already deep thrusts came faster and faster.

“I’m close,” she gasped, far sooner than she would have liked, but having already had his fingers teasing her so exquisitely, she was on the precipice.

“Then come undone for me,” Caldwell demanded, tugging ever so slightly harder on her hair. He didn’t have to wait long for Moira to do as he asked, a cry pulled from her as her climax hit, and her knees did give out.

Caldwell pulled out and gave the Banshee a moment to rest before wrapping an arm around her chest, using it and the hand that gripped her by the hair to bring her back to her feet and into his arms. Lifting her up, Caldwell kissed Moira deeply, carrying her to their next destination: a lounge chair. Moira returned the kiss with hunger, hardly giving herself a chance to catch her breath.

“Are you ready?” Caldwell asked as he sat down in the chair, Moira already positioned on top of him. In reply, The Banshee lowered her hips, taking him into her once more.

“More than ready,” she purred, leaning in to kiss him and begin a pace of lifting slowly, then dropping down on him hard.

“Moira…” Caldwell hissed, putting his hands on the Banshee’s hips to help guide her, still a little concerned at first that she hadn’t recovered her energy from her first orgasm. However, once he felt more assured that she wasn’t about to fall, a hand pulled Moira’s face down to his, planting a kiss on her lips before venturing as far down her neck and chest as her plunging dress allowed.

“James,” Moira moaned his name, beginning to increase her pace, each movement coming faster. “Get this fucking dress off and touch me.”

Caldwell did as she demanded, his hands trailing down Moira’s back to find the zipper. Once it was down, he began to gingerly pull the dress up from the bottom, careful not to let their continued motion get in the way of its removal. As soon as the dress was off, he gently draped it across the nearest, cleanest surface, a cabinet.

Now that she was bare before him, Caldwell’s hands honed in on where he knew to be sensitive areas while his lips and teeth made their marks on her breasts, collar, neck, and jawline.

“Much better,” Moira sighed happily, resting her hands on his shoulders and riding him harder. “I... I think I’m getting close again.”

“Good,” Caldwell replied, his lips against her neck, “Come again for me, Moira.”

Moira’s pace became a little less steady as her second orgasm overtook her, this time heralded by a strangled breath and a cry of his name, slightly muffled as he caught his lips with hers.

“Bar counter next?” Caldwell asked, moving his lips away from hers. Moira nodded, still gently rolling her hips into his.

“Yes. Are you getting close at all?”

“I’ve been holding back… but this next stop I won’t be able to,” Caldwell answered, once again lifting Moira up so they could move to their next stop, “I’ll let you pick where you-”

“Inside me,” Moira answered, leaning in for a quick kiss. “I don’t want you to stop fucking me.”

Caldwell couldn’t help but blink at Moira’s choice of location, but smirked as he lay her down on the bar table, “As you wish, then.”

The Overboss wasted absolutely no time, starting hard and fast with his thrusts, enjoying the way each one rocked through the Banshee’s body and elicited a gasp or a moan. Moira managed to sit up and tug Caldwell’s shirt off, tossing it aside before wrapping her arms and legs around his neck and hips respectively. Her mouth caught his almost frantically, tongue pressing past his lips to tangle with his.

“Moira,” Caldwell breathed, once again snaking fingers through the raider queen’s shock white hair and pulling it back to expose her neck for him.

“James,” Moira sighed his name in reply, pulling him in deeper as she moved as close to the edge of the counter as possible. “Harder. Harder. Really fuck me.”

Wordlessly, Caldwell obliged, gripping Moira’s hips with both hands to lift and steady her as he slammed faster and deeper into the Banshee. He was rewarded with an unrestrained moan, her eyes shutting as she tried desperately to rock her hips in time, her nails biting into his skin.

“Yes! Yes, James. James!”

Caldwell almost growled as he tried to go even faster, even harder, using the small pain of the nails digging into his shoulders as fuel as he focused on the sound of Moira’s voice as she pleaded for more, chanting his name like he was god himself.

With a final scream of his name, Moira came for the third time, this orgasm deeper and stronger than the previous two, leaving her teeth chattering.

“Moira, I’m… Moira… Moira!” Caldwell gasped as he finally allowed himself to climax, his legs nearly giving out as he filled the Banshee. Her heels dug in, holding him deeper as she rocked her hips, fucking him through both of their highs.

“Whew…” Caldwell breathed, giving a small laugh, “Desk?”

“In a minute,” Moira chuckled, reaching for the nearby bottle of wine and taking a swig straight from it. “I can’t feel my legs.”

“Fair,” Caldwell conceded, taking the wine and a drink from it before returning the bottle to Moira’s hand.

“That was good, though,” she continued, taking another drink, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. “And we still have all night.”

“And-” Caldwell taking his turn with the wine bottle, “Two or three more stops on the tour.”

“And then we retire to bed where we use each other up until we’re numb?”

“That sounds like a fine ending to the evening.”

“Then if you’re ready,” Moira smirked, setting the wine aside. “Let’s put that desk to good use.”

“I almost want to bend you over the desk like with the arm of the couch…” Caldwell pulled Moira to her feet, “But what do _you_ think?”

“I think I like that idea quite a lot. You hit the perfect spot at that angle.”

“Then let’s see if lightning strikes twice.” The Overboss smirked, giving the Banshee a light smack on the ass. Her eyes narrowed but she said nothing, allowing him to guide her by the hand to the desk. Caldwell had already cleared it, and Moira walked a circle around it before leaning her upper body across the top.

“Come and take me, James.”

“With pleasure,” Caldwell purred, circling from the other direction. With a hard thrust, Caldwell resumed their coupling with slow and powerful strokes as his hands grasped her breasts.

“James,” Moira whispered his name, forehead resting on the desk as her hands gripped the sides. “Right there. Right there, that’s perfect.”

Fighting the urge to go faster, Caldwell maintained the tempo he’d set, focusing on the way Moira moaned his name with each thrust. There was almost more satisfaction in hearing all the different ways that she called for him than there was in the way he fucked her. _Almost_.

Moira lasted for nearly another minute, before her already sensitive body began to climb towards another release. “God, James… James, I’m closer.”

“Already?” The Overboss chucked, punctuating his sarcastic question with a deeper thrust.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “You already got me off thrice… I’m… fuck… James…”

Eager to introduce Moira to her fourth orgasm, Caldwell finally thrusted faster, making sure that he maintained the angle that she loved so much as he did. It wasn’t more than another few seconds before the chanting of his name increased in pitch, ending on a gasp as she came for him yet again.

“The bed’s the last stop… unless you want to give the floor a try.” Caldwell leaned forward to whisper and nibble at the edge of Moira’s ear.

“Mmm… I’m very happy right here,” the Banshee sighed, rocking her hips back into his. “But let’s get to the bed. It’ll be much easier if we stop moving around.”

“And it’ll be far more comfortable than the other stops,” Caldwell added, pulling out and stepping away from Moira, “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”

Turning and pulling the Overboss into a deep kiss, Moira led him to the bed. She lay down against the pillows, dragging him down with her. Caldwell’s hands trailed across Moira’s body, finding the sensitive spots to linger upon as they kissed, a brief reprieve before their next round. As they did, Caldwell’s Pip-Boy played a song that Caldwell couldn’t help but chuckle at its relevance.

_“She was a fast machine, she kept her motor clean, she was the best damn woman that I ever seen…”_

Once again, Caldwell’s touch found Moira’s hair. However, rather than curl into a fist, the fingers gently stroked the Banshee’s hair, smoothing the wild mess it had become over the course of the evening, tucking loose strands behind her ear. Moira leaned into his touch, her own hands resting on his cheeks to hold his mouth to hers.

“Ready?” Caldwell asked after another few moments.

“I am,” Moira replied, one hand drifting down to stroke along the length of his arm.

_“Taking more than her share, had me fighting for air, she told me to come but I was already there…”_

Without further ado, Caldwell’s free arm aided him in joining with Moira again. Their previous rounds catching up to them, Caldwell’s strokes were slower, maybe a little lazier, but still deep; his touch was softer, almost tender as he gently caressed the Banshee’s body.

Moira did not complain; still sensitive and even a bit sore from their former rounds, she was more than satisfied with his gentility. “Mmm… that feels good.”

“ _You_ feel good,” Caldwell hummed, kissing Moira’s neck lightly. With a contented sigh, she arched her neck to give him better access.

“Charmer.”

“Only one of my many titles,” Caldwell replied dryly, punctuating his sentence with a small bite along his pathway.

“James,” Moira sighed his name, taking one of his hands and guiding it between her legs. “Touch me, please.”

“As you wish,” Caldwell’s guided hand began to gently work in tandem with his cock, idly stimulating the Banshee’s clit. Her knees pressed into his sides, a pleased moan drawn from her lips. After a moment, she found his other hand, taking it and entwining their fingers. Perhaps it was a symptom of the moment, but Caldwell instinctively returned the light squeeze he felt around his hand as his lips gently trailed back to Moira’s mouth.

With the stimulation of his fingers, Moira could feel soon enough that the Overboss would quickly bring her to another peak of pleasure. Gasping softly into his mouth, one foot stroked up his thigh and then across the small of his back as her leg wound around his waist.

_“You… shook me all night long! Yeah, you… shook me all night long!”_

“Are you-” Caldwell asked, his question nearly lost in a hiss of pleasure as Moira’s free hand dragged its nails slowly down his spine.

“Yes,” she replied, “Are you?”

“Yes.” Caldwell answered, capturing her in a kiss. Moira returned the kiss hungrily, rolling her hips into each languid stroke. “Where?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Moira’s words were slightly strangled, her climax building faster now. “James... just... don’t stop.”

Caldwell put all the energy he had left into his thrusts, increasing the speed as much as he could while still paying attention to his other ministrations. Moira’s grip on his hand tightened, her head tipping back as she felt her next orgasm ready to overtake her.

“James!”

“Moira!”

Gasping and crying out against each other’s mouths, the pair hit their peak in unison. Waves of pleasure washed over the pair, and when they’d subsided, both were too spent to even move for several moments.

“That was… incredible.” Caldwell panted, finally pulling out and rolling off of Moira to lie next to her on the bed.

Moira could only nod, chest heaving as she gulped down air. Her hand clung onto his even as he moved off of her.

“I think…” Caldwell struggled to get his words out, “That I’m… _officially…_ out of… energy.”

“Mmmhmm.” Moira rolled onto her side and curled against his chest. “I said I couldn’t feel my legs earlier. I definitely can’t now.”

“I think I might need breakfast in bed… and the morning off…” Caldwell sighed, wrapping an arm around Moira, “But, there’s no rest for the wicked. We’re leaving for the Commonwealth tomorrow afternoon.”

“I know,” the Banshee sighed, her thumb stroking against his, her other hand resting on his hip. “But I’ll have no trouble sleeping well tonight.”

“At least there’s that.” Caldwell agreed, pressing a kiss to her forehead idly. Already feeling her exhaustion overtaking her, Moira leaned up to catch Caldwell’s lips in a slow, lazy kiss, before pressing her head against his shoulder and settling in to sleep.

Caldwell would follow suit not long after, but not before being starkly reminded of nights like this with Amata or Sarah. His tired mind drew wild parallels but seemed to be too exhausted to explain them before sleep finally claimed the Overboss and presented him with pleasant dreams of the white haired, hard headed woman who lay beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While making love, Caldwell and Moira listened to "Stripped" by Depeche Mode and "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC


	34. Breaking Into Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nuka World Raiders begin their invasion of the Commonwealth with their first target being Gunner Plaza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I keep a copy of the whole fic in Google Docs as one large document. Finally, after 34 chapters, 250,000+ words, and what was over 700 pages in the Doc... the Google Doc crashed and would not allow us to update it. So chapters 1 - 29 are held in one doc, and 30 onwards will be kept in another. Fun fact, between chapter 30 and the chapter you're about to read, there's in the realm of 50,000 words.
> 
> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Depictions of Violence
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Heaven & Hell.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR**

**BREAKING INTO HEAVEN**

* * *

**April 10th, 2288.**

“I still think I should have been the one to go,” Sinead sighed, passing a cigarette back to Fontayne as the pair of Harbingers took a break from their preparations and got some fresh air.

“We need soldiers, not scouts,” Fontayne scoffed, before taking a drag. “Besides, you can earn points with Witch if you help him manage everything around here.”

“Mm. Third in line doesn’t mean much when there’s only two positions.”

“Better third than fourth.”

Sinead didn’t respond as she took the cigarette back. But she nearly choked on the smoke as the Banshee appeared around the corner. Coughing, the Omen dropped the cigarette and ground it quickly into the dirt.

“Banshee!” Fontayne greeted, a little too loudly. “We were just-”

“ _Where the river’s made of Quantum-_ hmm?” Moira looked up to see the two Harbingers staring at her like Radstag caught in a floodlight. “Good morning Sinead, Fontayne. Is everything alright?”

“Good!”

“Great!”

“Peachy!”

“Perfect!”

“Oh, well, good.” The Banshee’s usually inflectionless tone was uncharacteristically cheerful. Sinead and Fontayne exchanged confused glances. “How are the preparations?”

“Almost done, Banshee,” Fontayne answered quickly. “I’m getting everyone together and they’re getting their gear, and, uh... yep.”

His words trailed off at the smile on his boss’s lips.

“Are... _you_ alright?” Sinead asked slowly.

“Never better. I’ll go and make sure Witch has what he needs.” The Banshee headed past them for the door. “And you two have earned a break. No need to hide it.”

Once the door had closed behind the white-haired raider queen, Fontayne and Sinead looked to one another yet again, before asking the same question in tandem.

“What the fuck?”

* * *

“Aaaallllllllright, kiddies, it’s hiiiiigh nooon!” RedEye’s voice called over the radio, “And you know what that means! Everybody get to your places, because the show is about to begin! Remember, if you’re late, you’ll be left behind, and the Overboss’ll have your hide!”

Outside the front gate, four tanklike trucks sat, lined up in a row. As a horde of raiders filed into the back of each one, A much smaller group stepped between the automatic doors of the monorail train.

“Let’s review the plan,” Caldwell turned back to the occupants of the monorail.

“We’re going to land in the Commonwealth, walk to Fort Hagan’s Satellite Array, where we’ll rest for the evening with Ivey and the Rust Devils and grab whatever supplies we need. Then, we’ll proceed southeast, stopping at the Mass Pike Interchange. There’s a small Gunner outpost there, and we need to take it out. Once we do, we can rest if needed, otherwise, we keep going. We cross the river and stop at Egret Tours Marina. Scouts indicate the settlement is occupied by literally _one_ person, so taking it shouldn’t be a problem. By this time, the main assault teams _should_ be arriving in the Commonwealth, and two of them will meet us there. From there, we travel to Gunner Plaza under the cover of night, kill the cunts on the rooftop, and then the Banshee lives up to her namesake and signals the attack.

“Any questions?” Caldwell asked after his long-winded explanation had finished.

“How long is this meant to take?” Moira asked, glancing over at the small crew of sixteen she’d assembled.

“About three days total. Going from here to Fort Hagan is the first day, to Egret Tours the second, and we attack on the third night.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” Fontayne asked, grinning at the prospect of a proper hunt and the slaughter to come.

“Good fucking question.” Caldwell gave a wicked smile, hitting a button that caused the train to lurch forward and begin to move.

* * *

Once the army had departed for the Commonwealth, the remaining raiders were left, mostly, to their own devices, under the watchful eyes of the Doomed that stayed behind to ensure no fuckery occurred in Caldwell’s absence. Mags, Mason, and Nisha had all departed for the Commonwealth with their soldiers, leaving handpicked managers to watch their gangs in their absence.

Taking full advantage of being left under care of her gang’s second in command, one particular Harbinger was able to slip away to visit with the Court of Murder. Visit, a word which here means, to burst in the front door wearing a scarf and a very irritated expression.

“Where’s your uncle?”

“Uhh…” Scarlett blinked twice, caught quite off guard by the Harbinger medic’s unannounced and very sudden appearance, “He’s… in his room?”

“Great.” Stitches stepped past the Queen of Hearts and headed off down the hall of the castle.

“Up the stairs on your left, then second on the right!” Scarlett called after her.

Upon reaching the indicated door, Stitches threw it open, not bothering to knock. “Allison.”

The former chem cook froze, about to stab himself in the arm with a syringe of Daddy-O, “Uhh… I can explain.”

“First off, put that shit down.” Stitches shut the door behind herself as she stepped into the room. “Second of all, you told me you weren’t going to leave a mark where anyone could see.”

“Did I say that?” Brownstone laughed nervously as he set the chems down on the floor, “I… uhh… don’t recall-”

“You did, and yet there were at least _four_ that Fontayne saw within a minute.”

“Even _I_ know Fontayne’s a ho.” The junkie argued, “Of _course_ he could spot them.”

Stitches pulled off the scarf and turned her head to the side, showing off two very noticeable red marks.

“Huh. How did _those_ get there?” Brownstone looked away, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment. Stitches did not reply, continuing to glare him down. “Uhh… sorry?”

“This time, don’t bite me anywhere visible.”

“This time?” Brownstone repeated back with a smirk. The Harbinger reached back and locked the door.

“This time.”

* * *

“Last stop, motherfuckers!” Caldwell called as the monorail train came to a rest, “Let’s fuckin’ go!”

The Harbingers and Doomed that populated the railcars rose to their feet, a mix of eagerness and apprehension hanging between them as they slowly shuffled off the monorail and onto the platform. Up the stairs and beyond the door… the Commonwealth. They were literally only feet away from taking their first steps in the Commonwealth.

Moira, at the head of the group and at the Overboss’s shoulder, could not hide her anticipation, her footfalls quick as she moved ahead to take the first step onto the soil of the Commonwealth.

“Is the whole thing this much of a dump?” Fontayne complained, as they walked out into brilliant sunlight.

“I hate to break it to you, smoothskin… but _everywhere_ is a fuckin’ dump.” A ghoulish Doomed retorted with a roll of his jaundiced eyes.

“Hey!” Caldwell clapped to get the group’s attention, “Focus. We’ve got to hit Fort Hagan by sundown.”

“Then lead on.” Moira gestured for Caldwell to walk on ahead of her, one foot tapping the dust impatiently. With a quick jerk of his head, the Overboss began the trek, everyone else falling in line behind him.

As Caldwell led the group onwards, the ghoulish Doomed tapped Fontayne on the arm, “Can’t believe we have to fuckin’ walk. These old-ass bones ain’t fit for marathons no more.”

“Fuckin’ seriously,” Fontayne agreed. “It’s only gonna get warmer out here, too. It’s gotta be better in the cars, right?”

* * *

“Are we there yet?!” Dixie asked the occupants of her truck for the umpteenth time.

“NO!” Mason bellowed, his face red with anger.

“I gotta pee!”

“You should’ve gone before we left!” Mags turned back and snapped at the Operator who’d spoken up.

“I spy with my little eye-”

“Don’t you _fucking_ dare.”

“Driver,” Nisha calmly addressed the Rust Devil at the wheel, “Perhaps turning on the radio will help these fucking idiots calm down.”

With a shrug, the driver flicked on a switch and turned a dial until-

_“Hey everybody, did the news get around about a guy named Butcher Pete?! Oh, Pete just flew into this town, and he's choppin' up all the women's meat!"_

“No!” Nisha, Mags, and Mason cried in unison at the song playing over Diamond City Radio.

_“He keeps hackin' and whackin' and smackin!' He keeps hackin' and whackin' and smackin’! He keeps hackin' and whackin' and smackin!' He just hacks! Whacks! Choppin' that meat!”_

As three dozen raiders sang along to the radio, Mason buried his face in his hands, and almost wished the Banshee had taken _both_ of his ears.

* * *

As the sun began to dip low in the sky, the horizon was painted in a dozen hues of pink and gold. Witch watched on, knowing enough time had passed that Moira was well and truly on her way through the Commonwealth. Meaning, for all intents and purposes, he held the temporary mantle of “Banshee,” and no one would question his whereabouts if he happened to slip away.

And slip away he did, in time with the fading light of day as he sought a place of solitude. His feet carried him out of Nuka Town, along the edge of the theme park and into the quietest place he seemed able to find: Vault-Tec’s Among The Stars exhibit in the Galactic Zone.

It would be easy to slip past the Rust Devils still inhabiting the Galactic Zone… the true challenge would be to remain undetected by their robots. However, Witch was quiet and careful, moving slowly through and around old shop stalls until he finally found the entrance to Vault-Tec’s little diorama.

Inside, it was just a matter of finding somewhere to hide while he finally put to use the stolen treasure he’d somehow managed to keep hidden for so long. Impatient, Witch headed to where a little space was set up to simulate an alien planet. Ducking behind one of the many prop mountains, Witch sat down amongst the ruins of some protectrons that Caldwell had destroyed when he’d first taken the park, before the Harbingers ever heard of Nuka World.

Leaning on a cool metal wall, the man in the feathered cloak drew a syringe from his inner pockets, releasing a breath. He turned the vial over in his hands, keen eyes taking in the liquid within, the glint of the needle. It had been some time since he’d shot up, but the muscle memory was there, as he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the scars and track marks that would likely never fully disappear.

Unfastening the spare belt he’d worn, Witch made quick work of tying it around his upper arm, squinting in the dim light to find a vein. His hands trembled slightly as he anticipated the rush, the visions, but steadied just enough as the needle sank into his skin with an old, familiar sting.

Witch swallowed hard, and then pressed the plunger, filling his veins with Psychojet. He emptied the vial, then tossed it away and released his belt to give the chems a chance to flood his system. Unused to them after so long clean, Witch didn’t have to wait long for the high to hit, his senses awakened. He felt energized, _alive_ , and his mind opened, the touch of the Sight flooding into his mind in a rush; a dam bursting after years of holding back.

Most of what he saw made no sense: snippets of voices and flashes of faces he did not know, feelings unanchored or unfamiliar. A Synth with peeling skin, eyes flashing between yellow and orange as he looked down the barrel of a gun. Longing for a love that would never be requited. Someone screaming the name “Rhiannon.” An old man in a white coat accompanied by such sorrow. A woman with fair hair and a scar- features too soft, the wrong shaped scar to be Stitches- running down a hallway, overwhelmed by terror and the ugly feeling of violation. The sense of coming home after being lost for far too long. And then, finally, a clearer series of visions began to take shape.

_Moira and Caldwell embraced, the Overboss rushing in to pull her into his arms. This was not to come for some time, for her hair had grown longer, but a sense of overwhelming relief came with the vision. A feeling of liberation and that some vengeance had been paid._

_And then the scene changed. Goliath was screaming in rage and fury. Witch’s chest was tight, his stomach filled with dread, and he was afraid. Why was he afraid? Goliath threw himself at a figure in power armor, who turned and aimed a gun at the Super Mutant._

_And then there was Gage. He and Witch were kissing, but quickly. They were hiding, no time to linger, and though the Harbinger clung to him, the second merely shook his head. “When Caldwell returns,” they promised one another._

_Witch was bleeding. Half of his vision was dark. There was fury and betrayal. He stumbled forward, caught by Moira’s hands. But she was older. At least a few decades. Caldwell was also there, speaking to Gage off to the side. He could make out nothing but the name “Atticus.”_

_Once again, the vision changed. Goliath lay on the ground, that figure in power armor standing with a heavy boot on the Super Mutant’s back. Blood poured from the grey behemoth’s body. All around him, all he could feel was fear, uncertainty, horror. To his left, Moira was whispering, “Get up. Get up.”_

And then Gage again... no, wait... Gage was real, his face mere inches away. Witch reached out just to be sure, resting his hand on the man’s cheek. His fingertips met flesh and metal and he blinked as the fearful visions ebbed. “Hey.”

“What the fuck are you-” Gage all but breathed, taking in Witch’s state, “What did you do?!”

“Psychojet, I think.”

“You… come on,” Gage gently hoisted Witch to his feet and slung an arm around his back, “You’re going to see Stitches.”

“I don’t need Stitches,” Witch shook his head, the chems suddenly spiking his adrenaline now that the Sight had had its turn with him.

“I go asking around for you, no one knows where you are, and I find you in the goddamn Galactic Zone, relapsing on Psychojet?” Gage snapped, “You’re _going_ to see Stitches.”

“I don’t need Stitches. Where’s Goliath? I need to talk to Goliath.” Witch, nearly frantic, shrugged Gage’s arm off and started to move for the exit of his hiding place. However, Gage caught him just as quick.

“I’ll get you Goliath _after_ you see Stitches.”

“No, but the armored man,” Witch babbled rapidly, the Sight’s reveals too hard to verbalize with the chems still clouding his mind. “He brings fear, and Goliath’s end.”

“Yep, and you can tell us all about it when you’re not high as a fuckin’ kite,” Gage continued to pull the Harbinger along.

“My eye,” Witch continued, reaching up to touch his own face as he was lead along. “Who’s Atticus?”

“Witch, don’t worry about it right now, just relax,” Gage attempted to soothe him, “We’re gonna see Stitches, she’ll help you ride this out, and then we’ll talk to Goliath. Okay? It’s all gonna be okay.”

* * *

“Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Commonwealth, Overboss,” Ivey greeted Caldwell as they approached, “How was the walk?”

“It was bullshit-”

“It was uneventful.” Caldwell answered, speaking over Fontayne, “But we’re all anxious to rest.”

“Well, good news,” Ivey gestured behind her, “Fort Hagan used to be crawling with Synths, but someone cleared them out a few months back, and the place has gone quiet ever since. We’ve been working on turning the place into something we can work with, but for now, you can use it to crash. We did a little raiding for supplies, and left them in the open for you. Plus you can take whatever you can salvage from the old fort.”

“Thank you, Ivey.” Caldwell replied, “Have whoever you’re sending to aid in the attack in Egret Tours Marina the day after tomorrow by dusk.”

“Not a problem, Overboss. See you then.” Ivey nodded back before turning back towards the Satellite Array. Caldwell nodded his head in the direction of the old military base, and the group set out at once, eager to set down their bags for the night.

* * *

“Jesus fucking- _where_ did you find him?” Stitches demanded, shoving a second inhaler of Addictol into Witch’s face. The second batted her hands away, grabbing it and administering it himself.

“Galactic Zone,” Gage answered, “In that Vault-Tec… thing.”

“Where the fuck did you get Psychojet?” Stitches grabbed the inhaler away from Witch so he could reply.

“I found it.”

“Where?”

“The Banshee’s room.” Witch’s head had cleared by now and he glared at the medic.

“Uhh… that sounds like something y’all are gonna have to talk about when she gets back.” Gage shrugged, “But seriously, Witch, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I wasn’t going to get caught and thus wouldn’t have to explain myself.”

“Well, that ship’s sailed, idiot,” Stitches snapped, smacking him upside the head.

“Again, sorry we had to pull you from whatever…” Gage tried to avoid looking at the barely-covered red mark on the medic’s collar, “Uhh… _meeting_ you were in the middle of, but-”

“It’s fine,” the medic huffed. “It’s a damn good thing you brought him to me.”

“Where’s Goliath?” Witch asked for the umpteenth time.

“He’s on his way,” Gage answered, “He was doing some heavy lifting for the Doomed and the Pack over at the Safari Zone, but he should be here soon.”

“Right. Here’s another bit of Addictol, if you think he needs it. I’m going to go and resume my meeting.” Stitches tossed another inhaler to Gage before heading off.

“Isn’t one enough- okay.” Gage called after her, but the medic showed no signs of slowing as she disappeared out the door.

“One is more than enough,” Witch sighed, setting the second inhaler aside. “She’s just paranoid.”

“Well, she helped your high ass before, and now she’s dealing with Brownstone, so I’m a little inclined to believe she knows her shit.” Gage shrugged, pressing his lips to Witch’s forehead.

“I’m fine, Christ. You both worry too much. It was one hit.”

“I’d be less worried if it was mentats or somethin’ light, but nooo… you had to go to a fuckin’ Psycho cocktail.”

“Hey, I didn’t go shopping for it, okay? I found it on the floor! I didn’t have a lot of options.”

“Ahem.”

The arguing pair turned to see Goliath’s massive frame filling the doorway. “You called.”

Witch hopped to his feet. “Yeah. We need to talk.”

“Should I… go?” Gage looked back and forth between the two.

“Up to you,” Witch sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I mean, it’s _my_ fuckin’ room,” Gage rolled his eye, sitting in a chair in the far corner, “So I’m staying.”

Witch turned back to Goliath and took a deep breath. “So I shot up.”

“And you Saw I was right.” Goliath smirked.

“I Saw you die.”

Goliath blinked as the air seemed to leave the room. After a few moments, the grey mutant responded, “Then that is what will be.”

“Bullshit.” Witch rolled his eyes. “Just don’t attack any assholes in power armor.”

“No promises.” Goliath laughed, “But you Saw I was right. I can see it in your eyes.”

“You might be right,” Witch admitted begrudgingly. “I only saw them twice. There was... a lot happening.”

“And what will you do with your new knowledge?” Goliath asked.

“I don’t think I have to do anything with it.” Witch shrugged, sitting back down on the edge of Gage’s bed. “If you’re actually right, no action is the right action.”

“Clever boy is learning.” The Super Mutant full on smiled before departing. There were a few moments of quiet before Gage spoke up.

“You wanna stick around?”

“Don’t you have a park to run?”

“Suck my dick.”

“If you insist.”

* * *

Fort Hagan still bore some battle scars, with laser burns and bullet holes all over the walls. Upon discovering the bunkroom, many of the Harbingers and Doomed elected to use the Pre-War bunks over the cots that had been laid out by the Rust Devils. Caldwell took a well-furnished room for himself, one that appeared to have been used previously by a man named Kellogg.

“Of course you take the biggest and best.” Moira’s voice observed from the doorway, looking around at the Overboss’s accommodations.

“Perks to being the Overboss.” Caldwell glanced over as he rifled through a cabinet.

“Maybe I should try that sometime.” The Banshee smirked.

“You say that like you have a chance at taking the title from me.” Caldwell laughed, pulling a bottle of vodka out of a drawer.

“I don’t know, James.” Moira made her way into the room and across to him. “I get you alone and in such compromising positions all the time. I might have a shot, if I chose to take it.”

“If you get me alone, then there’s a succession crisis,” Caldwell countered, with a good-natured chuckle, “Gotta go through the Gauntlet to be Overboss for certain… and _then_ you gotta face me.”

“You say _that_ like I _don’t_ have a chance at taking the title from you.” Moira gently grabbed the front of his jacket, pulling him closer.

“Anything’s possible.” Caldwell shrugged, pressing closer to the Banshee.

“You wouldn’t have asked me to join you out here if you didn’t see me as something like an equal, I’d imagine.”

“What do you mean ‘something like’ an equal?”

Genuine surprise passed behind the Banshee’s eyes. “Well… you _are_ the Overboss.”

“But here, where you call me James and I call you Moira, that’s _different_.” Caldwell said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Moira’s mouth, “Like you’re so fond of reminding me, James is just a man. And Moira’s just a woman.”

Moira looked away, her hands falling from his chest. “No, not exactly. Moira is… a monster as well. She just doesn’t carry the name to prove it.”

Caldwell blinked for a moment. Stepping around the Banshee, he set the bottle of vodka on a nearby table and shrugged off his jacket. Setting his sunglasses beside his coat, he poured two small glasses of the clear liquid, returning to give one to Moira.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you what?” Moira took a sip of the offered drink and settled on the edge of the bed.

“Who Moira is.” Caldwell took a seat beside her.

The Banshee was silent for a moment, unsure where or how to begin. Finally, she drained the rest of her glass. “Moira should not have been born. Moira is a mistake, and she knew it. I grew up knowing it. I grew up knowing everything I said and did was wrong. I grew up knowing I was inconvenient. Too outspoken, too curious, too much.”

Caldwell grabbed the bottle of vodka from the table and refilled her glass, staying silent to allow her to continue.

“My father always told me I was ‘bad for business.’ I asked too many questions, I said what I was thinking. So I was meant to disappear. Except when I tried, when I went off on my own, that was also reprimanded. I don’t know what they expected from a child. But clearly I was not it, and never would be. When we went to Salem, I was able to find ways of getting out of my parents’ hair that they allowed. And I was satisfied. Content. Not really happy, but content. And then the Gunners came, and tore down our home around us.”

Sensing the difficulty of the next passage, Caldwell set the bottle back down and put a hand over Moira’s.

“We were trapped in the basement for almost three months. There was too much debris to clear away, and there was no food. Except...” She stopped, taking a drink, her fingers shaking. “My father had been shot. Had bled out. It was the only thing to eat...

“That was when my hair turned white.” Moira shook her head slightly. “It used to be brown. Auburn, actually. But that was... that was my first taste of flesh. And then he ran out, and there was still no way to know how much more rubble had to be dug through. And so my mother... she refused to let her daughter starve. And she had a knife... I dragged myself out a week later, with the help of a wanderer, just a few years older than myself. Witch.”

Caldwell nodded in understanding, his thumb rubbing circles on Moira’s hand.

“His… Sight, as he calls it, showed him that I needed help. And he came to my aid. He’d lost his own mother just a few months before, so he understood. And we stuck together from then on. But the things I did to survive… when I know they never wanted to have me in the first place…”

Moira paused, taking a moment to compose herself and hold back the tears that had begun to rise up in her eyes. “Some people are just monsters. I am one of them.”

Downing his shot and setting the glass aside, Caldwell took hold of Moira’s cheeks, gently turning her face towards his and wiping the tears away, “Maybe. But that alone does not define you. And you are strong, stronger than most in this world. You made the choices you had to, some good, some bad, and you became who you were destined to be. The Banshee.”

“Then perhaps the lines we draw between our names and titles are not so clear.”

“Perhaps.”

Silence settled between them for a moment, before Moira leaned in and brushed her lips against his. “I should let you sleep.”

“You could stay.” Caldwell said, a hand dropping to grip hers.

“I’d like that.” Moira gave his hand a squeeze. “Better than the bunk beds everyone else is crammed into.”

Caldwell leaned towards Moira, his lips barely centimeters away from hers. She leaned in and closed the space between them, entwining their fingers on their clasped hands. Caldwell’s free hand moved to the back of Moira’s head, gently guiding her down to the bed beside him.

“You wanna just get some rest?” Caldwell asked, breaking away for a moment, “I’m a little worn out from last night, and we’ll need all the energy we can for killing Gunners.”

“I’m exhausted,” Moira agreed. “But I’ll still stay the night if you’ll have me.”

“Please do.” Caldwell sighed, pulling Moira closer. They shifted until Moira rested with her head against his chest, his arms wrapped around her in a way that always managed to comfort her. If you had asked her before coming to Nuka World if she’d ever feel safe at the mercy of another person as she so often ended up with Caldwell, she would vehemently deny it. And yet… she felt more at peace in James’ arms than she could recall feeling at any other time.

Listening to his heartbeat as his breathing evened out into sleep, Moira leaned up to press a soft kiss against his lips, then followed him into unconsciousness.

* * *

**April 11th, 2288.**

“Hey, MacCready,” Rhiannon turned back towards the Rifleman as the group set out from their campsite, “Isn’t Mass Pike Interchange on the way?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” MacCready replied, sounding casual in the way of someone who had been thinking of nothing else. “Did you... want to scope it out?”

“We may as well,” Rhiannon shrugged, “I mean… we’re all armored up, so…”

“Let’s do it!” Cait agreed, “Time to see what your old Gunner friends are made of.”

“They are _not_ my friends, and never were,” MacCready protested, “But… yeah. Let’s take ‘em out.”

“Good way to warm us up,” Valentine agreed. “Let’s get up there and show them what _we’re_ made of.”

“I’m down.” Simon shrugged his shoulders.

“I'll be happy to help you kill some more of those Gunner bastards,” Preston nodded to MacCready. “Just point me to them.”

“It’s unanimous,” Rhiannon pointed in the direction of the overpass, “Let’s go.”

* * *

_“Wake up! Grab a brush and put a little makeup! Hide the scars to fade away the shake-up!”_

With a groan, Moira buried her face against Caldwell’s neck. “Turn it the fuck off.”

Caldwell muttered something incoherent as he swat at his Pip-Boy. Eventually the song ceased playing, leaving the room in silence.

“Morning.” The Overboss mumbled sleepily.

“Can it not be?” The Banshee replied, still nuzzling close like she could extend the night if she just pressed against him.

“Unfortunately, it’s still morning.” Caldwell responded, though he wrapped his arms back around Moira all the same. “We have to get up.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, but made no move to do so, an arm draping over his waist. The pair remained in bed for another few minutes.

“We really _should_ get up.”

“Okay.” Moira sighed, and finally sat up, rubbing at her eyes. “Okay, I’m up.”

“Just think of all the Gunners we’ll get to kill,” Caldwell also reluctantly rose from the bed, “Focus on that until we’re gone and the bed no longer tempts us.”

“Now that _is_ a motivating thought,” she admitted, getting to her feet and stretching.

“Yeeeah,” Caldwell agreed, drawing out the word as he stretched as well, “Just gotta get to Egret Tours Marina, then wait for everyone else to meet us there. Then it’s just a matter of time before-”

“Overboss.” Ivey knocked on the door, “Our scouts just picked up something about Mass Pike Interchange. Sounds like the place is about to get hit.”

“Really?” Caldwell glanced over at Moira as he pulled on his jacket, “I’ll be right out in a moment, give me the details then.”

“Yes, Overboss.” Ivey responded, the sounds of her power armored footfalls muffled by the door. The Banshee ran a hand through her hair and adjusted her tank top where it had revealed one of her breasts.

“You ready?” Caldwell turned over to Moira, stepping into her space for a moment.

“As I’ll ever be.” Moira reached up and pulled him down into a kiss. “I just need my coat and shoes.”

“See you in the cafeteria.” The Overboss smiled, slipping his sunglasses on and heading out the door.

* * *

“Maybe we can get dinner later?” Witch suggested, adjusting his mantle and cloak as he finished dressing.

“As Caldwell’s so fond of saying, ‘I’ll make sure it’s in my calendar,’” Gage replied, giving Witch a kiss on the cheek as he passed by, “Hopefully nobody burns the park down before then.”

“Well, don’t jinx it,” Witch chuckled. He got to his feet and pressed another kiss to Gage’s lips. “Okay, I need to go check on the Rocket today so I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah I’ll see you later, love you.” Gage responded as he looked over some paperwork.

“Alright, love you, too,” Witch replied automatically, heading out and pulling out his notebook to check his notes as he headed out into the daylight.

As Gage looked over notes the Caldwell had left for him, he suddenly realized what he and Witch had said to each other.

“…Wait… did we…?”

* * *

“So we don’t have much intel on who’s currently attacking Mass Pike Interchange,” Caldwell elaborated to the group as they marched, “However, an old friend of mine is among them… even though I use the word ‘friend’ incredibly lightly. Still, he shouldn’t be hostile towards me, and hopefully we can get some information out of him.”

“Then I suppose we should do all we can to appear diplomatic?” Moira asked, walking in step with him.

“Probably,” Caldwell replied, “Gunners that operate on old highways use lifts to get to and from their bases. Easier to keep watch on and defend. There should be one up ahead.”

Caldwell turned back to address the group as a whole, “The Banshee and I will go up alone. The rest of you will find positions to remain stealthed, and in the event of… unpleasantness, ambush and kill anyone that isn’t us. Questions?”

“What if you die?” A Harbinger at the back of the group called. Moira pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I fucking won’t,” Caldwell answered.

“But what if you _do_?”

Caldwell let out a deep sigh and rolled his eyes, “Then I wasn’t fit to be Overboss and deserved it. Now get moving!”

At once the Harbingers and Doomed fanned out, finding rubble, rocks, and bits of foliage to camouflage with. Once they’d disappeared into the landscape, Moira nodded to Caldwell.

“Let’s go.”

Without another word, the pair walked down the road a little further, veering off to where a yellow construction lift rest amongst some boulders. Pressing the red button, the lift descended to the ground level.

“So. How am I to introduce you to them?” Caldwell asked as he stepped aboard the lift.

“Does it matter?” Moira raised an eyebrow, following behind him. “I can introduce myself.”

“Perhaps, but the question of our connection is what I refer to,” Caldwell pressed the red button, lifting them into the air, “And I’m certain MacCready will have many questions for me. It’s been a decade since I saw that little cave rat.”

“Does it matter?” Moira asked again, shrugging. “Friends? Associates?”

“Probably not,” Caldwell replied as the lift reached the top. Looking to their right they could see that there had indeed been a recent battle; the bodies of Gunners littered the highway along with the parts of broken turrets.

“Alright, let’s try to look as friendly as possible,” Caldwell whispered over. Moira, slowed her pace and rubbed at her eyes, trying to scrub off the wild warpaint.

“No one’s going to find me friendly with this. Hang on.”

“Take your time.” Caldwell stopped for a moment.

“Okay.” Moira checked her reflection in the blade of her hunting knife, leaving some dark makeup on her eyelids. “This should be fine as long as I don’t smile too widely.”

“Just in time.” Caldwell’s gaze turned towards the gates, where six figures, four of which wore power armor, were heading their way.

“Jesus.” Moira paled. “Where do you get that much power armor?”

“Pre-War military ruins, most likely. Or plucked from the Gunners they just killed,” Caldwell murmured back before his eyes narrowed on one suit in particular, emblazoned with the Brotherhood of Steel logo.

“Holy sh-” One of the figures just _barely_ stopped himself from cursing. After a moment, the suit of power armor cracked open, and a skinny young man emerged from the back, “Jay Jay, is that you?”

Moira could feel the way Caldwell flinched at the nickname, but the Overboss smiled nonetheless, “Robert Joseph MacCready! You’re taller than I remember.”

One by one the suits of power armor opened up, and the two groups met in the middle of the broken highway. Moira stood closer to Caldwell, allowing him to lead the discussion while she carefully scanned the approaching group.

“Finally moved up to Big Town,” Caldwell smirked at MacCready, “Did the place burn down without me to teach ‘em how to wipe their asses?”

“It hadn’t when I left,” MacCready shrugged, turning to his companions, “Everyone, this is James Caldwell Jr.”

“Nice to meet you,” Rhiannon replied with an even tone, extending her hand.

“Likewise,” Caldwell returned the handshake, though it, like his voice, was fairly stiff. “And your name?”

“Rhiannon Kennedy.” The woman seemed just as tense, but she hid it better.

“So, you’re Brotherhood, are you?” Caldwell nodded towards the suit of power armor she’d stepped out of.

“Ugh.” Rhiannon rolled her eyes. “Technically yes, but only for the armor. I’m the General of the Commonwealth Minutemen. And this is Colonel Preston Garvey. He’s my right hand.”

“Good to meet you both,” Caldwell hid the surprise in his eyes behind his sunglasses as he shook the Colonel’s hand, “I’ve heard a fair bit about your little group on the road.”

“And that’s Cait,” MacCready gestured to the redhead, who only nodded back to them, “And the grease monkey’s Simon.”

“Hey.” Simon waved, keeping his distance.

“Nick Valentine, private eye,” An honest to God _Synth_ reached out to shake Caldwell’s hand. However, the Overboss took the robotic hand without hesitation, “I’ve heard quite a few things about you, James Jr.”

“Just Caldwell’s fine, if you don’t mind.” The Overboss responded.

“Caldwell,” Valentine echoed. “MacCready tells me they call you ‘the Lone Wanderer.’ Doesn’t seem so apt a descriptor to me.”

Valentine’s luminous yellow eyes settled on Moira. The woman smiled, softly and without revealing her teeth.

“Not so much these days,” Caldwell shrugged, “This… is my wife, Moira.”

Moira glanced sharply at the Overboss, but managed to keep her expression neutral. She extended her hand, shaking the Synth’s, Preston’s, and Rhiannon’s.

“Pleasure to meet you all,” The Banshee greeted coolly.

“Huh. Managed to get over Sarah? Good for you.” MacCready commented. Caldwell’s eyes flared with rage briefly, but he managed to reign it in.

“Coping with her loss is a continued work in progress, Robbie.”

“ _Robbie_?!” Cait sputtered, barely holding back a peel of laughter.

“What brings you two to these parts?” Valentine asked, looking between the couple.

“Passing through, mostly,” Caldwell shrugged, “I have friends in the neighborhood. And… ‘friends’ who need to be dealt with. But I can see you’ve already cleared this little spot out for me. Good job. Very efficient.”

“I see.”

“We’ve heard your name a lot recently, Caldwell,” Rhiannon said, a hard edge to her voice. “From the Brotherhood, and a few other places.”

“Have you?” Caldwell turned towards the General, “Do tell, what has Maxson been saying about me now?”

“Nothing I entirely believe,” Rhiannon admitted.

“Only a _fool_ would believe him, let alone follow him.” Caldwell replied sharply.

“Maxson claims you left the Brotherhood because you were responsible for the death of one of their Elders. Elder Lyons, I think he said?”

“Which Lyons?” Caldwell retorted, “The old man who died peacefully in his sleep, or his daughter, whom I loved?”

Moira had assessed the other party while they conversed, and while she knew the Overboss’s fighting style to be more brutal than her own, instinctual rather than calculated, she had a decent strategy formed in her head to take them out if the tone took a turn.

“Sarah,” Rhiannon answered shortly.

Caldwell paused, taking a deep breath, “I gave Sarah the sabotaged fusion core… but _Maxson_ had intended it for _me_ . _Maxson_ killed Sarah.”

Rhiannon glanced towards Nick, who gave his sleeve a tug. She looked back at Caldwell. “Now that seems more plausible to me, knowing Maxson.”

“What’d he say? That I was trying to take over the Brotherhood?” Caldwell let out an angry laugh, “How could I take over the Brotherhood if I _left_?”

“Told you,” MacCready muttered to Rhiannon.

“Say, can I ask you both a quick question?” Preston chimed in. Caldwell’s gaze turned expectantly towards the Minuteman. “Either of you know a Vasco Crawford?”

Moira shook her head. “I don’t. Darling?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Preston now looked to the Synth, who stood still for a moment before again adjusting his sleeve. Moira caught the movement this time, and a smile tugged at her lips, revealing a single tooth-point.

“A few more questions, and then we’ll let you on your way,” Valentine’s eyes narrowed slightly, “There’s a trader in Bunker Hill, a blonde number, her bodyguard dropped your name.”

“Really?” Caldwell raised an eyebrow, “This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“And, our friend Vasco mentioned a ‘Caldwell’ as well.”

“I’m not the _only_ Caldwell in the world.” The Overboss replied impatiently, “Are you accusing me of something?”

“What business are you in, Moira?” Valentine asked, ignoring Caldwell.

“None of yours,” she answered sharply.

“Moira, it’s fine,” Caldwell put a hand on Moira’s back, “She was involved in some… shady business, but I helped pull her out of it. For obvious reasons, she doesn’t like to talk about it.”

“Shady business?” Cait asked with an eager smile.

“I ran chems,” Moira said. “I got out of it.”

“So what are the two of you doing now? No business but the revenge business?” Nick persisted, watching each of their faces.

“What other business is there?” Caldwell retorted.

Rhiannon opened her mouth as if planning to protest, but hesitated. She tilted her head in a ‘he’s not wrong’ expression.

“Will that be all, Mr. Valentine?” Caldwell asked, “You may have cleared out the Mass Pike Interchange, but perhaps my wife and I could uncover clues about the individual we’re hunting.”

“Who’re you looking for?” MacCready asked. “Maybe I knew the bastard.”

Caldwell glanced towards Moira, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Someone who hurt my wife.”

“A man named Deckard,” Moira added, fighting a scowl that would reveal her teeth.

“Hmm…” MacCready took a moment to think, “Well, I knew _of_ him, but didn’t talk to him or anything. Not many Gunners can say they’ve gone grey.”

“But he _is_ alive,” Moira pressed, taking a step closer.

“I’ve been out of the Gunners for awhile, but last I saw, yeah.” MacCready confirmed. Behind him, Simon nervously put a hand on his gun.

“Good. He and I need to talk.” Moira smiled, this time revealing just the points of her canines.

“Right. ‘Talk.’” Valentine snarked, flicking away a cigarette. He tucked his mechanical hand into his coat pocket as it spasmed.

“It’ll be a one-sided conversation,” Moira admitted with a shrug.

“Well,” Rhiannon looked to her companions, “This has been… interesting, but we have to get back on the road. Nice to meet you James Jr.”

“Likewise, Rhiannon,” Caldwell nodded, “Safe travels.”

The group returned to their suits of power armor. As Nick Valentine and Preston Garvey walked back to the lift, the Synth hitting the button with a spasming hand, the four in power armor merely walked off the edge of the highway and onto the road below. Caldwell and Moira headed into the ruins of the Gunner outpost, until Moira’s arm suddenly pressed against Caldwell’s collar and shoved him against the wall.

“Your _wife_?!” She hissed. “Seriously?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Caldwell asked cooly, raising an eyebrow, “It happened to come to mind at the time, and it was plausible enough for them to believe.”

“ _That_ was the first thing to come to mind?” Moira rolled her eyes.

“Not the _first_ but the first that I thought they’d believe.”

“And now they _do_ believe it.” The Banshee stepped away, letting Caldwell free.

“So what? Is it so hard to pretend to tolerate me?” Caldwell asked, straightening his coat. Moira merely glared, moving off to begin picking over the bodies of the Gunners for anything the Minutemen hadn’t salvaged. After a moment, Caldwell joined her in the looting, searching through the wreckage for supplies.

Moira took each and every bit of food she found, sparing nothing, and making a mental note to get the Harbingers up here to butcher the bodies as quickly as they could. As she shoved a few crates aside, the Banshee’s hand landed on cold metal.

“What- oh. James. Come look at this.”

Caldwell looked away from Nuka Cola fridge he’d been raiding and headed over, falling into place just behind the Banshee, “Yes, Moira?”

The Banshee lifted an assaultron head, having to hold it mostly by the spinal column. “Do you think it still works?”

“Hmm.” Caldwell took the head, looking it over, “Perhaps. We’ll take it with us and see what we can do. I’m sure Ivey can make use of it. Got everything you could find?”

“I think so.” Moira brushed her hands off against her pants. “I want to send the Harbingers up here to get some of the meat off these Gunners. No sense letting food go to rot.”

“Fine,” The Overboss nodded, “Call them, we’ll camp up here for an hour or two.”

* * *

It wasn’t until Witch was heading back from the Red Rocket, sans a few of the Harbingers who had elected to start making themselves comfortable in the gas station, that he realized the words he and Gage had shared in parting. And the fact that Gage had said it first. Stopping dead on the way back into Nuka Town, Witch blinked several times.

“Well... shit.”

“You okay?”

“Huh?” Witch turned to see Scarlett making her way over. “Yeah, no, good. I’m good. Well. I’m well, if I’m being grammatically- How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Scarlett shrugged, “But are you _sure_ you’re okay? You’ve been standing there for like… five minutes.”

“I... yeah, no, just feeling a little weird today. Yesterday was...” Witch coughed into his fist, “Yesterday was a trip.”

“Oh?” The Queen of Hearts tilted her head, “What do you mean? Is it… weird to be running the Harbingers without Moira?”

“Yeah, a little.” Witch rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, tucking his notebook away. “What’s going on? Why are you wandering around?”

“I think the castle is haunted,” Scarlett admitted, “I keep hearing these… moaning sounds.”

“Yeah… I don’t suppose that’s where Stitches is having her… meetings?”

“Uhh…” Scarlett thought for a moment, paling a little, “Nope. Absolutely not. Couldn’t be.”

“Right. You want to hang out? I think Fontayne left his cards.”

“Yes, please.”

* * *

“I don’t know who you are, but you’d better clear out before-”

The woman’s threats were silenced as Caldwell fired a shot into the middle-aged redhead’s throat. Stepping into the room, the Overboss fired one more shot between her eyes.

“Alright. Tripwire, make sure there are no more surprises around here. Everyone else, get shit set up. The trucks should be rolling in sometime tonight, and we’re gonna want to be well rested for tomorrow night’s big show.”

Like silent flies, two Harbingers descended on the woman’s body and dragged it outside. Moira signalled for the others to follow orders. As the raiders hopped to task, she moved to rest her arm on Caldwell’s shoulder.

“So, last night before we strike.”

“Yeah,” Caldwell replied, raising an eyebrow at how the shorter figure attempted to rest her arm on his shoulder, “Gunner Plaza will be ours within forty-eight hours.”

“We should leave a few alive for questioning,” Moira mused aloud, watching her people getting ready for the night. “Hunt Deckard down when this is all over.”

“Hmm… I think we can do that.” The Overboss nodded after a moment, “We can’t leave any survivors on the roof, but we’ll be trying to make as little noise as possible in there. Anyone you want alive, say the word and we’ll use the blunt ends of the knives.”

“Good.” The Banshee’s hand plucked a stray strand of white hair off the lapel of the Overboss’s coat. “I’ll keep my eyes open for the right targets.”

“If I may seek your counsel for a moment,” Caldwell pressed a little closer to the Harbinger, “What do you think we should do with their leaders? Kill them in the attack? Keep them alive for a public execution?”

“Mmmm. Let’s keep them alive. Make it public, and slow.” Moira smiled at the thought. “After we interrogate them.”

“They’ll have plenty of time to talk while hanging from a cross,” Caldwell’s hand slowly found Moira’s waist.

“Excellent. I’ve wanted to see a crucifixion since you showed me Vulpes.” Moira moved to stand chest to chest with the Overboss. “Maybe I could even try my hand at one?”

“They have at least three major officers…” He hummed, “You could certainly use one of them.”

“You could show me how it’s done.” Her hand began to trail down his chest and stomach. “Where to put the nails.”

“It’s not _always_ done with nails…” Caldwell replied with a light shrug, “Barbed wire will help keep them in place… or you could always use _both_.”

“I don’t mind going above and beyond.” Moira’s fingers hooked into the front of his pants, pulling him closer by the waist. “Whatever hurts the most.”

“Oh. It’ll _hurt_.” Caldwell smirked, the hand on her waist sliding a little lower, “Nails and barbed wire digging into flesh, hung out in the elements without food or water… they’ll suffer like never before. At least Vulpes had the advantage of choking on his own blood after I ripped out his lying tongue.”

As he spoke, Caldwell watched Moira’s pupils dilate, the hunger darkening her gaze with lust, for both blood, and for him. Her lips parted as she leaned up, reaching to close the gap between them with a kiss.

“Overboss!” A Doomed called from outside, “The trucks have arrived!”

Moira rolled her eyes with a brief expression of disgust, lowering to the soles of her feet. “And again, Mason and Mags ruin everything.”

“Ugh…” Caldwell growled in disappointment, “We’ll have to pick this up later.”

“That had better be a promise, James.” Moira leaned in for a quick kiss, then left the room to greet the trucks. Caldwell followed her out moments later, watching as six dozen raiders filed out of the vehicles.

“Oh my God… I could kiss the ground right now,” Mags complained as she leaned forward, hands on her knees.

“If I hear the words ‘hacking,’ ‘whacking,’ or ‘smacking’ one more _fucking_ time…” Mason growled as he stretched his legs.

“Long ride?” Moira sneered as a few Harbingers moved to flank her, glaring at their rivals.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Nisha commented as she stepped off the truck, “Where do we set up shop, Overboss?”

“There’s a boathouse, a Pre-War kiosk, and that ruined building behind me” Caldwell gestured to the three buildings, “I’ll be taking the kiosk. The three of you can set up shop in the upper levels of the boathouse as opposed to the unfortunately roofless building behind me.”

“And there’s always in the trucks,” Mags added, “Who knows, it might actually be comfortable without a couple dozen people fighting for sleeping space.”

“Well, if you change your mind and want to get cozy, Mags-” Fontayne was cut off as Moira elbowed him in the ribs. “Ow…”

“As _if_.” Mags scoffed and rolled her eyes, heading around the truck to gather her supplies.

“Worth a shot,” the Harbinger muttered, rubbing at his side.

“Alright, cut the fuckin’ chatter!” Caldwell shouted, clapping his hands, “Get this shit set up so we can get some rest and get ready! Tomorrow night is a big fuckin’ night!”

* * *

As far as living spaces went, the Pre-War kiosk wasn’t _bad_. It was fairly compact, but had sufficient enough space for its present requirements. There was plenty of storage opportunities with the cabinets, and he’d even found a bottle of Quantum. With the calming sounds of the water around him, Caldwell sat in a fairly comfortable chair, smoking a cigarette while his Pip-Boy played faint music from his arm.

_“Sunspots… cast a glare in my eyes… Sometimes… I forget I'm alive…”_

The door creaked open as his cigarette began to dwindle, and the slight shape of the Banshee slipped into the kiosk.

“Moira.” Caldwell greeted, flicking the cigarette out the window to his right.

“James,” she replied in kind, heading into the space with her sleeping bag on her back. “I hope you don’t mind if I camp out here. The Pack are stinking up the boathouse.”

“By all means,” Caldwell gestured to behind the counter, “Mine’s over there.”

Moira rounded the counter and spread out her sleeping bag beside the Overboss’s. She hopped up onto the counter after and stretched out her arms. “Now, you were telling me how you killed Vulpes, before we were so rudely interrupted.”

“What else is there to know? What drives your curiosity?” Caldwell asked, rising from his chair and walking to lean against the counter where Moira sat.

“You ripped out his tongue. Surely that wasn’t all. He betrayed you, after all. Did you break him in any other ways?”

“We had our fun,” Caldwell gave a light shrug, “His compatriot we hung by the feet, and beat him with an ugly old bat with barbed wire and nails and the like in it. Vulpes we hung on a pair of meat hooks. Ivey, Brownstone, and Scarlett took turns inflicting an injury. Brownstone was pretty keen on cutting a smile into his cheeks.”

“Mmm. Good knife work has always pleased me.” Moira reached over to take Caldwell’s sunglasses. “The precision of it is so satisfying. And it’s slow. And you feel every cut, like the blade is an extension of yourself, making them suffer.”

“As much as I use guns, they’re too quick sometimes,” Caldwell agreed, detatching the Pip-Boy from his arm and setting it down on the counter next to where she’d left his sunglasses, “If I could go back… make Colonel Autumn truly _suffer_ and _bleed_ … I would.”

Moira hopped down off the counter, and immediately pulled Caldwell’s coat off his shoulders. Tossing it aside, she set one hand on his chest, the other hooking into the waist of his pants, and pushing him back towards the chair. “Tell me. Tell me how you’d carve them apart.”

“If I had all the time in the world?” Caldwell allowed Moira to shove him back into the chair.

“I’d cut off his fingers, one joint at a time. I’d carve and cut, burn his wounds shut, and give him stimpacks when he’s close to death, so he’d live to suffer more. I’d find a drum filled with nuclear waste and shovel it down his throat. I’d shove his head under irradiated waters, giving him mere seconds to catch his breath. I’d cut him open neck to nutsack and turn him into a suitcase. I’d turn his bones into a walking stick, or as a trophy for my mantle. I’d carve his heart out, and preserve it in a glass jar to piss in.”

As he spoke, Moira stripped him slowly,  her nails dragging up and down his skin as she worked. Once Caldwell was bare before her, she stepped back and began to shed her own clothing. By the time he’d finished, she was also naked, and more than ready for him.

“Many of the things I hope to do to Deckard once that bastard’s under my knife.” Moira climbed into Caldwell’s lap, her hands on his shoulders and her hips swaying teasingly over him. “Will you watch me butcher him?”

“I’d relish the chance to see you at work,” Caldwell answered, hands trailing across the Banshee’s skin.

“You know,” she murmured, leaning down until her lips hovered above his by mere centimeters, “You never did tell me if you liked my reply to your initial invitation.”

“The carvings on my messenger’s back?” Caldwell asked, one hand stopping underneath one of Moira’s breasts, the other continuing upwards, “It was _very_ impressive… he must’ve thrashed against the knife and yet you carved clean and coherent. The work of an artist.”

“An artist?” Moira raised a brow, still looming over him and not yet touching him where she knew he wanted her to. “How gracious. You know it took me hours. He bled too much.”

“Art takes time. You can hardly rush art.”

“This is true. Which is why I’m taking my time with you now.”

“You say that like you’re the only one taking their time.” Caldwell’s hand brushed past Moira’s cheek as it found a place at the back of her neck. Moira’s lips curled into a soft smile, and very nearly touched his.

“Make me a promise.”

“Ask away.”

“Promise me that whenever you finally decide to burn the world down, you’ll fuck me in the ashes.”

Caldwell’s hand slunk into her hair as it often did, tipping her head back while pulling her lips close against his, “The pact is sealed.”

Finally, she kissed him, one hand resting on his cheek as she fervently drank in the taste of him. The other trailed to rest against his throat, her thumb grazing over his pulse before resting there to measure his heartbeat. The hand that held a fistful of her hair tugged back ever so slightly as the other finally began to massage the breast it had lay dormant underneath.

After a moment more of this, Moira breathed into his mouth, “Do you want me?”

_“She turns me on… She makes me real… I have to apologize… for the way I feel…”_

“God, yes.” Caldwell answered, the hand on the back of her head sliding downwards, his nails gently ran down her spine, leaving soft red lines in their wake.

“Say it,” Moira insisted, the hand on his throat growing firm, but not squeezing. The other dropped to his waist, fingertips trailing towards his cock, but not yet touching. “Tell me how badly.”

“I want you Moira… I’d kill to have you.”

“Good. Maybe one day you will.” Satisfied, Moira captured his mouth in another passionate kiss, and finally lowered her hips, guiding him inside her in one swift motion.

_“And nothing can stop me now! There is nothing to fear! And everything I'd ever want… is inside of here!”_

Once they were joined, Caldwell slowly began to thrust upwards into Moira as she rode him, allowing him to guide the pace while the hand not on his throat slowly wandered his body, lingering above his scars. The hand that had trailed down her back curved around to the front, finding the Banshee’s other breast and joining in it’s counterpart’s ministrations.

“James,” Moira gasped his name between kisses, setting a slightly harder pace.

“Moira,” Caldwell hissed, matching the new tempo, causing the thrusts to hit deeper, rocking the Banshee to her core. She gasped and moaned into his mouth with each movement, some of the sounds vaguely taking the shape of his name as they drew out their coupling.

“Having fun, dear?” Caldwell murmured into Moira’s ear after a particularly deep thrust pulled a long moan from her lips.

“I always do,” she answered once she’d found her voice. “And you?”

“Time of my life,” Caldwell answered, his teeth brushing against the Banshee’s cheek as his lips moved to her mouth.

“You’re so good,” Moira sighed, both hands now lifting to cup Caldwell’s face. “So good, James...”

“So are you… I could eat you alive…” The Overboss slammed his lips into the Banshee’s, his hips pumping faster into her as he kissed her with the hunger of a starved man.

“Careful,” Moira breathed into his mouth, before she bit at his lower lip, drawing a bead of blood with her fangs, “I could do the same.”

Caldwell let out a little chuckle as his hand returned to pull back on Moira’s hair, peppering kisses and bites across her neck and collar. The Banshee rocked her hips down at a rougher pace, another moan escaping her.

“Okay, fuck, I’m close,” Moira gasped.

“So am I-” Caldwell started to say before Moira pulled him into a quick kiss. Her tongue brushed against the blood that welled up on his lip, filling both of their mouths with the sharp, metallic taste.

“Can I-” Caldwell asked against her mouth, “Inside?”

‘Yes,” Moira replied immediately, the strokes of her hips becoming shorter as she pressed close to him.

It wasn’t much longer for either of them. Caldwell thrust upwards as fast and hard as he could before his climax hit, Moira’s orgasm coming to fruition as she felt his seed fill her moments later. Left breathless, trembling, Moira leaned back, nearly slipping off the chair. Caldwell’s hands found her back, holding her upright and pulling her close, before drawing her into a slower, languid kiss.

“Tired?” Caldwell asked, the Overboss trying to catch his breath as he kissed Moira.

“Mmm… no, but we need to save our energy for tomorrow night’s assault.” Moira lifted a hand to wipe away the thin line of blood that rolled down his chin.

“We _do…_ ” He agreed, “We’ll want to be well rested. Killing Gunners will be hard work… if only because there are so many of them.”

“They may have the numbers, but we brought the best of the best. The Gunners won’t know what hit them.”

“Even when you signal the attack, they won’t know…” Caldwell smirked, “Slip in while the rest bombard their front, without their heavy support? It’s a question of _when_ not _if_ they break through.”

“And like a house of cards, they’ll fall.” Moira pressed another kiss to the Overboss’s lips. “We’ll have our base and soon the rest of the Commonwealth will bow.”

“Only _a_ base… We can’t stop thinking big,” Caldwell smirked, “Someday… we’ll crush the Brotherhood of Steel. We’ll push the Minutemen into the sea. Diamond City, Bunker Hill, Goodneighbor… _Salem…_ all ours.”

“And why stop at the Commonwealth?” Moira smiled wickedly. “We could push outwards. We could take the Wasteland, with enough time.”

“We could go East and take the Capital Wasteland… or West, to the New California Republic…” Caldwell let his head rest against the back of the chair, “All for us.”

“Step by step.” Moira leaned down and kissed him slowly. “Let’s focus on the Gunners, and then we’ll take everything our eyes can see.”

“First the Gunners, then the Commonwealth,” Caldwell agreed.

“And then the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caldwell's alarm was "Chop Suey" by System of a Down. "Sunspots" by Nine Inch Nails played during their closing sex scene.
> 
> {And they said Infinity War was the most ambitious crossover in history. Finally the Raiders and the Minutemen have made contact. And Rhiannon looked Maxson's orders in the face and went "nah." The hero we deserve.  
> Also how about that full backstory dump on Moira? That was.... a thing.}


	35. Breaking The Habit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still on the way to the Glowing Sea, Cait suggests the group take shelter in Vault 95. However, the former pit fighter may have a more personal motivation than just a safer night's sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Drugs and Addiction
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Linkin Park.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE**

**BREAKING THE HABIT**

* * *

**April 11th, 2288.**

“So, that was the infamous James Caldwell Jr.” Rhiannon glanced over at MacCready as the group made their way away from the Interchange. “I pictured him a little taller.”

“The way you talked about him… almost made him sound almost larger than life,” Valentine added.

“I was  _ thirteen _ when I met him, so yeah, he  _ was  _ larger than life back then,” MacCready countered.

“His wife gives me the creeps,” Simon deadpanned.

“Yeah, there was  _ definitely  _ something off about her,” Preston agreed.

“White hair, scars, never spoke except to talk about wanting to kill a guy?” Simon said sarcastically. “No, she was  _ perfectly _ normal. It’s gotta be my imagination.”

“Did ya see her teeth?” Cait added. “I swear they were all pointy.”

“Well, back in the Capital Wasteland, there was a whole settlement of lunatics who thought they were vampires,” MacCready shrugged, “Maybe she came from there?”

“Maybe,” Valentine agreed. “I don’t think they were being entirely honest back there, but I couldn’t pick up on any outright lies, either.”

“So what do you think they’re  _ really  _ doing here?” Preston asked the group, “I mean,  _ maybe  _ they really are hunting this ‘Deckard’ guy, but are the two of them going after Maxson next? And  _ just _ the two of them?  _ That’s _ a little hard to believe.”

“Maybe they were lying about not knowing Vasco and the merchant?” Rhiannon suggested. “Or maybe they really are in that Operator gang Lily mentioned.”

“He never said he  _ didn’t _ know the merchant and her bodyguard,” Valentine added. “Only that it was the first he’d heard of his name in those parts.”

“I still find it hard to believe he’d throw in with raiders,” MacCready scoffed, “But hearing the stories about what he’s pulled off, sneaking into the Brotherhood of Steel and killing Maxson isn’t impossible for him.”

“MacCready,  _ Lilith _ threw in with raiders,” Rhiannon reminded him. “Anything’s possible.”

“Lily  _ was  _ with raiders. Past tense.” MacCready argued, “She went  _ from  _ raiding  _ to  _ merc work, and now she’s working with you. That’s not the same as going  _ from  _ being the Capital Wasteland’s biggest hero  _ to  _ being a raider.”

“Every past tense has to be a present tense at some point,” Valentine countered. “Grief affects people in a lot of different ways, kid. Losing Sarah Lyons could have done a number on him.”

“Not that all this talk about Caldwell isn’t  _ super _ interesting,” Simon interrupted, “But… the Glowing Sea?”

“Right,” Rhiannon drew out the word, “If we keep heading south down this road, we’ll run into a place called the Electrical Hobbyist’s Club.”

“Apparently that place is chock-full of radiation, so we’re better off just avoiding it,” Nick interjected.

“So, we keep following the road. Apparently there’s a spot that people more or less decided was the ‘edge’ of the Glowing Sea, so we’ll stop there, and maybe camp,” Rhiannon continued.

“Or…” Cait suggested, “A little further down than  _ that  _ there’s an old Vault. Vault 95. I hear some Gunners took it over, but it’s not like we didn’t  _ just _ spend the mornin’ killin’ ‘em. We could take ‘em out and camp there.”

“A vault might be safer,” Simon mused, “And she’s right. We’ve already fucked up one nest of Gunners today.”

“I’m  _ always _ up for killing Gunners,” Preston agreed.

“The Vault it is, then,” Rhiannon announced.

* * *

"Oh did you throw it to me, Gav? Hey Gavin… here's looking at you!"

On top of Vault 95, a group of four Gunners engaged in a game of cards. This particular round, due to the unique rule set, had been going on for the past hour and a half with no signs of stopping. As a man in a looted Minuteman hat slapped down a ‘reverse’ card, two other occupants of the table let out a groan, knowing the game’s end was getting further and further away.

"Oh thanks, Jeremy! You know what my favorite color is?" Gavin smiled, his dirty army helmet nearly falling into his eyes as he nodded, throwing down the same card with a different color. "Blue. Blue for you."

"Oh really? You know what my favorite hand is? Yours." Jeremy gave a wicked grin as he slapped a blue ‘7’ card onto the table. As the other Gunners launched into hysterics, Jeremy grabbed Gavin’s smaller hand of cards, leaving his for the helmed man to pick up.

“Gonna powerbomb you through a desk, Jeremy…” Gavin grumbled.

“I'd like to see you try, fuckstick!” Jeremy grinned.

Suddenly a gunshot from further above and behind them rang out, and blood splattered over the table. One of the occupants, sans her head, fell backwards out of her chair.

“Jack!”

“We’re under attack!”

“Ambush! Ambush! Defense protocols engaging!” The Assaultron kept by the four announced as the Gunners sprang into action.

“Check the cliffs! It came from behind-”

Another gunshot rang out, catching the older man in the throat. Blood poured down his tattooed and bare chest as he slumped to the concrete floor.

“Geoff, no-” Jeremy called before a warbling shot rang out, the Gunner turning to dust as he died.

“Lil’ Jay!”

“Hostiles det-” The Assaultron attempted to warn the only remaining human on the roof before suddenly deactivating without a fight.

The remaining gunner fell moments later, letting out a scream that could only be likened to a seagull being strangled. As he fell, MacCready smirked, peering through the sight on his rifle.

“And that’s how it’s done.”

“No telling how many are inside,” Preston looked around to the group, “Stick close-”

“But  _ not _ close enough for them to throw grenades at.” Simon interjected, looking up from his Pip-Boy as he began to remotely reprogram the Assaultron below them.

“So we going in guns blazing, or are we taking the subtle approach?” Nick asked, carefully examining his pistol.

“There’re four of us in power armor,” Cait deadpanned, “I say we put it to good use!”

“ _ Four _ of us,” Preston reminded her, winding up his laser musket.

“If we leave the suits alone, someone else might take them,” Rhiannon warned, “We’d better not leave them behind.”

“And with these suits, stealth is not really an option,” Simon added.

“Fine,” Preston sighed. “But I’m standing in the back.  _ Way _ in the back.”

“You’ll kill less Gunners that way.” Despite wearing a helmet, Preston could tell that Cait punctuated her sentence with a wink.

“And less Gunners will kill me that way,” he replied.

In the distance, an alarm buzzed loudly, signalling the opening of the Vault door below them.

“Oh. Shit,” Simon deadpanned.

“Says the man in power armor…” Preston grumbled.

“Guns ready,” Rhiannon commanded, in what Simon once called her ‘general voice,’ and which Lily had once called her ‘mom voice.’ Lining up on the edge of the cliff, the four in power armor stepped off in unison. Landing upon the roof of the Vault with a deafening thud, they continued, weapons drawn, and stepped off the concrete floor and onto the Gunners below.

“Death from above, motherfuckers!” Cait screamed, punctuated by a few shotgun blasts.

Preston and Nick scampered down the cliff, using one of the Gunners’ own barricades to take cover behind, crouching back to back as they triple-checked their weapons. Preston gave his musket another crank and took a deep breath. Looking over to the Synth, however, the Colonel saw Valentine glaring up at the figures waging war on the Gunners below, his eyes glowing with a more muted light than usual.

“Valentine?”

“What?” The detective glanced over, expression back to normal.

“Uh… you ready?”

“Are you?”

* * *

“They’ll be fine,” Lilith sighed, patting Dogmeat’s head as it rested in her lap. The German Shepherd huffed, the sound ending in a whine.

“I know, but it’s like Simon said: they’re all together, and they all have each other’s backs. I’m sure we’ll see them in just a few more days.”

Dogmeat’s tail thumped the floor a few times. Lily smiled and scratched behind his ears.

“Maybe you and I can go on an adventure of our own, boy.”

At this, the dog hopped up to his paws, barking with his tail wagging wildly.

“Well, okay, then.” Laughing, Lilith also got to her feet, dusting off her pants. “Let’s go talk to Ronnie and the others and see if they have something for us to go out and do.”

Excitedly, Dogmeat took the hem of Lily’s coat in his mouth and dragged her towards the courtyard. However, before they could step out into the sunlight, a low whistle caught both of their ears, and the pair turned to look for the source.

“Hey there, beautiful,” A Minuteman in reflective sunglasses called to her, “Do you have a geiger counter?”

“Sorry,” Lily replied with a smirk, “Mine’s in the shop.”

The Minuteman approached, keeping his voice low, “Long time no see Charmer. How’ve you been? Carrington was worried you’d gone dark.”

“I had a lot going on,” she said with a shrug. Dogmeat looked curiously at the stranger, but at hearing Lily’s familiar tone of voice, began to wag his tail slowly. “Minutemen shit, you know?”

“Yeah, I think Fixer mentioned that in one of his drops,” Deacon shrugged, “But you know Carrington…”

“Yeah,” Lily sighed. “Always getting pissed at us for getting shot. Like we can help it that other people also have bullets.”

“I’m doing a little recon for Dez, and I’m hoping I could get your help,” Deacon looked around briefly for eavesdroppers, “We’re a little concerned about whether or not the Minutemen are Synth-friendly, so the powers that be, mainly Dez, decided to send me to check out your digs.”

“Well, we’ve all been palling around with Nick Valentine,” Lily chuckled, “And he’s maybe the Synthiest Synth I’ve ever seen in my life, so... I’d say you can check the box by yes on that one.”

“Maybe, but even some haters are cool with Valentine,” Deacon frowned, “Here’s the deal. I think Dez and the General need to meet, and work out some kind of partnership. It’s been getting harder and harder to get packages out of the ‘Wealth… maybe we can send some over here. Boost Minutemen numbers while keeping Synths safe.”

“Thought of that all on your own?”

“Glory helped too.” Lily had known Deacon well enough to tell the man had winked at her behind his sunglasses.

“That explains why it’s an actually decent plan,” Lilith laughed. “Okay, I can probably swing something when Rhiannon gets back. Convince her to come to our little hidey hole.”

“You’re the best, Charmie,” Deacon gave Lily another wink, accompanied by a pair of finger guns, “Anyway, I gotta get back to blending in. These settlements aren’t gonna protect themselves.”

With a wildly overdramatic salute, Lilith led Dogmeat out into the courtyard. “Hear that, boy? Sounds like while we’re out there stirring up trouble, we’ll have to figure out a way to get Rhiannon to go to church.”

Dogmeat tilted his head curiously, but wagged his tail nonetheless.

* * *

The Vault was poorly lit and claustrophobic, doubly so in the suit of power armor, triply so when there were three other individuals in power armor, fighting for space. However, Simon fought against the way his chest tightened and tried to relax his breathing as the fight against the Gunners in the atrium of Vault 95 continued.

“Balcony!” MacCready warned the group. Instantly, Rhiannon snapped in the indicated direction, her new assault rifle spraying bullets into the two Gunners there.

“Eat this, ya prick!” Cait spat as he fired her combat shotgun into a high-ranking Gunner, his head exploding and coating the nearby pillar with blood.

“Alright, we’re clear-”

“Get them!” A Gunner captain shouted as he and five other Gunners rushed the atrium from the reactor room.

“Or… not.” Preston corrected himself before firing a shot from his laser musket that caught the Gunner captain in the chest, leaving a smoldering blackened dent in his combat armor chest piece.

Rhiannon’s assault rifle mowed down another two, and Valentine, and Cait each took out one of the remaining Gunner recruits. MacCready let out a sharp whistle for their captain to hear.

“Say hello to Winlock and Barnes in hell for me!” He called to the man before firing a shot that pierced the Gunner’s eye. As the hall fell quiet again, the group listened for the sound of any more footsteps approaching, any whirring turrets or shuffling assaultrons… but heard nothing.

“Well, there are probably more deeper in,” MacCready shrugged, “But hey, this floor’s clear.”

“And I’m assuming this locked door is the one we’d have to get through to introduce ourselves to them.” Valentine gestured to a nearby door.

“And we left Lily,” Rhiannon sighed, “So, who else is handy with a bobby pin?”

“I am,” Cait raised her armored fist.

“I don’t think it’s that kind of lock,” Valentine frowned, looking at a terminal next to the door, “It looks like we’ve either got to head up to the Overseer’s office to unlock the facilities wing, or we could try our hand at hacking it.”

“Well, that’s up to you or Simon,” Preston said, holding up his hands. “I’m not great with terminals.”

“Nick can give it a go,” Simon offered, “Fingers are too big to type in this monkey suit.”

“Well, alright.” Nick turned back to the keyboard, “Might be a little tricky…”

“Oh, right.” Rhiannon winced. “We never got your hand looked at.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” Nick said, maybe a touch too quickly as he typed on the terminal. “Probably just a loose wire.”

There was an awkward moment of silence, in which the only sounds were the clacking of the terminal’s keyboard.

MacCready started to whistle a tune, just to shatter the quiet.

“…Is that ‘Butcher Pete?’” Preston looked over to MacCready’s Gunner-painted power armor, looted from Winlock.

“He’s hackin’ and wacking’ and- FUCK!” Simon cursed, “I  _ just  _ got that song out of my head!”

“I’m gonna stretch me legs,” Cait announced, the back of her power armor opening up.

“Suit yourself,” MacCready shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s getting warm in here,” Simon agreed, popping open his suit as well.

“Yeah,” Rhiannon nodded, and also let her armor open so she could climb out.

“Got it.” Nick called as the door slid open. As it did, Cait let out a loud, hacking cough.

“Are you alright-”

The rest of Rhiannon’s question fell quiet as Cait let out another fit of coughing, her knees buckling. The redhead just barely caught herself on the arm of MacCready’s power armor.

“Cait!” Rhiannon and Simon rushed over to the redhead, helping her to her feet. However, the General caught a glimpse of red on the woman’s hands, and on the corners of her mouth. “Cait? Are you alright?”

“I never thought I’d be sayin’ this, but… I… well, I  _ really  _ need your help,” Cait admitted, her face looking pale.

“Anything,” Rhiannon answered immediately. “Anything you need.”

“I was hopin’ you’d say that…” Cait gave a weak smile, “We’re friends now which means I can trust ya with anythin’. I’m also hopin’ it means you’ve got me back… ‘cause I need it now more than ever.”

“Cait, what’s going on?” MacCready asked, taking a step closer. Valentine turned away from the open door to watch, hands in his pockets.

“I’m… I’m  _ sick…  _ and I don’t think I can hide it from ya anymore.”

“It’s alright, take a deep breath.” Simon hesitantly put a hand on Cait’s shoulder, “Just breathe for a moment. Follow along with me.”

For about a minute Simon guided Cait in some breathing exercises. After she’d calmed down, the redhead took one more shuddering breath before she spoke.

“Ever since I left home, I’ve been usin’ Psycho. I dunno  _ why  _ I’m still takin’ that crap… but I can’t stop, and believe me, I’ve  _ tried _ . I can’t even go a  _ day  _ without it, and I’m fuckin’ sick and tired of it!”

“What?” Rhiannon blinked.

“Where have you been getting Psycho?” Preston gaped.

“Wherever I can,” Cait admitted, “I even have a few stashes hidden ‘round the Castle.”

“We spent a  _ month _ training with you.” Simon shook his head. “How did we not notice?”

“I’ve been doin’ it behind yer backs, sneakin’ doses when I think you aren’t lookin’.” Cait looked deeply ashamed as she continued, “Worst of all, it’s been makin’ me  _ sick _ . I’ve been spittin’ blood and I don’t feel right inside. I  _ need  _ to get this shite out of me system before I wind up  _ dead _ .

“I’m sure we can find some addictol,” Valentine offered, still keeping a bit of distance. “Gotta be some medical kits around here.”

“Then we need to get her to a doctor,” Rhiannon added.

“Normally a wasteland doc could handle it, but I’ve been usin’ for so  _ damn _ long they can’t help me anymore…” Cait shook her head, “There’s only one other way…”

“And… that is?” Simon asked, almost dreading the potential answers.

“I’ve heard that Vault-Tec used Vault 95 for some kinda social experiment, stuck a bunch of junkies inside to poke n’ prod. Well, they  _ supposedly  _ had some special method to clean up those blokes in there… some kinda machine or somethin’. Maybe that machine can help me!”

“That’s why you suggested we go here…” MacCready murmured.

“If it’s here, we’ll find it,” Rhiannon insisted. “I promise.”

“I can’t believe how kind you’re bein’ to me, when I’m lettin’ you down…” Cait blinked in shock, “Look, I don’t want ya t’think I’m some kinda lowlife junkie, a stupid girl who’s harming herself for no reason. From one friend to another-”

“And another,” MacCready interrupted.

“And another,” Simon added.

“And another.” Preston nodded to her.

“And another,” Valentine agreed.

As tears welled up in her eyes, Cait swallowed past the lump in her throat. “All I’m asking for is yer help.”

“We’ll do everything we can,” Rhiannon vowed, to which the others all nodded.

“This means the  _ world _ t’me,” Cait rubbed at her eyes, “Alright. Let’s find this machine. Gotta be in here somewhere.”

* * *

“Howdy goin’, Miss Rook?” The dockmaster tipped his Minuteman’s hat to Lilith as she approached with Dogmeat. Despite barely touching middle age, the man already had a fair bit of grey in his beard, and always kept his hair tied back while at work.

“Right as rain, Seamus,” Lilith replied with a casual, fake salute. “How’s the water?”

“Well, yer stand’rds an’ mine are dif’rent, that’s for shore,” Seamus ran a match across the nearest flat surface, a railing. Taking the flame to a pipe, the dockmaster took a moment to smoke, obscuring his face in a white-grey cloud, “A bad day in the ‘Wealth ain’t nothin’ compar’d to a bad day back’n Far Harbor.”

A pause.

“But she’s pretty peaceable out thar right about now by ‘Wealth stand’rds.”

“Good to know.” Lily nodded, but Dogmeat was looking at the boats with apprehension. “I think my first mate might not have his sea legs.”

“Heheh… dun look like’t,” Seamus chuckled, ruffling the fur on Dogmeat’s head, “Will a treat help y’out, lil’ doggie?”

Dogmeat gave the man a sideways glance, but his ears perked and his tail gave a few wary wags.

“Looks like a ‘yes’ to me,” Lily smiled.

“Well, aight,” Seamus turned to the shack he ran the dock from, walking up the steps and retrieving a bag of mixed dried meats and handing it over to Lily, “Them treats’r on the house, but I’ll hafta take a few caps on front. Don’t worry, if t’boat comes back home safe’n sound, you’ll git’em back. If not… I keeps ‘em.”

“How many is ‘a few?’” Lilith squinted.

“Err… thirty?” Seamus shrugged, “It all goes to repairin’ or replacin’ t’boats that go under.”

“Thirty caps?” Lily’s jaw dropped. “But, Seamus, it’s  _ me. Ya girl. _ ”

“Norm’lly it’s  _ fifty _ ,” Seamus grinned, highlighting the missing canine tooth in his maw, “But ‘cuz it’s you, I dropped ‘er down t’thirty.”

“Christ.” Lilith huffed, pulling the caps out of her bag and passing them over. “I’m coming back for those!”

“Yeh, y’will,” Seamus winked at her as he opened a little lockbox and put the money inside, “Why’d’ya think I charge s’much? T’make sure ya comes back!”

“Ass.” Lily rolled her eyes, but couldn’t hide her smirk. “Alright, come on, Dogmeat.”

With a few minutes of coaxing and half a dozen treats, Lilith finally got the German Shepherd to join her in the boat. Once in, he immediately lay down on her feet, pressing up against her legs. Lily gave him a scratch behind the ears.

“Don’t worry, boy,” she assured him, picking up the oars as Seamus unmoored them, “We’ll be back on dry land before you know it.”

Dogmeat whined.

* * *

“General, up high!”

Rhiannon snapped up towards the balcony, spraying ammunition into the pair of Gunners that were preparing to gun them down as they headed up the stairs.

“Thanks, Preston,” The General gave the Colonel a smile and a nod, though the former was lost beneath her power armor’s helmet, “Alright, next level!”

“Let’s move!” Cait rushed up the stairs with lengthy strides, nearly falling over as she made a u-turn to head to the next room. Simon was right behind her, popping a fresh fusion cell into his laser rifle as they each took a side of the doorway.

“Ready for trouble?” Simon asked.

“I call it ‘sport.’” Cait answered, opening the door.

“Son of a bitch-” A Gunner reached for his gun a little too late, and was cut down by laser fire.

“Take cover!” Another Gunner called, ducking her head behind the closest cover she could find: an overturned card table.

“Fuck that,” A half-dressed man in a harness jabbed a Psycho syringe into his arm. Letting out a roar, he lept into action, jumping atop a dinner table with an automatic combat rifle.

“Fuck  _ you _ ,” Cait spat, firing her combat shotgun into the man’s knees. The adrenalized Gunner fell face-first onto the floor, one leg twisted, the other nearly severed. However, he seemed relatively unfazed, firing a few bursts at the woman who’d crippled him.

“Die! Die! Die!” He screamed until a rifle put him out of his misery.

“Oh, shut up.” MacCready’s voice dripped with irritation as he stepped into the room with Rhiannon.

“Nope! I am  _ not  _ getting paid enough for this!” A Gunner recruit threw his hands up and his weapon down as the number of individuals against him wearing power armor suddenly doubled. However, his change of heart was short-lived.

“Traitor!” The Gunner behind cover spat, shooting her former comrade in the neck with her machine pistol. Putting a Jet inhaler to her lips, the Gunner began to pepper the four intruders with bullets, but was quickly put down.

“That guy was the smartest man in the entire Vault,” Valentine drawled as he and Preston stepped into the room.

“Through here!” Preston waved the group over to a blown-out hole in the wall.

Around the corner and around the bend, the party found what they had to assume was the end of the line. With a shrug, Nick stepped up to the terminal next to the locked door, typing a few commands before it opened.

“I don’t fucking think so!” The Gunner commander shouted at them as an automated turret came to life inside the detox room, and a second one turned its barrels upon the party from just above the door.

“Shit!” Preston and Nick were forced to retreat as Cait led the power armored foursome into the room, her shotgun clearing the doorway turret in a single shot. Between a shot from MacCready and a volley from Rhiannon, the second turret was destroyed in a ball of flame.

“You’ll take this Vault over my cold, dead-”

“That’s the fuckin’ plan,” Simon interrupted, firing a few volleys of laser fire that scorched and dented the Gunner’s combat armor.

“Yeeeaaarrrgh!” Cait rushed the Gunner, lifting him into the air, charging into the wall with him.

“Hey,” MacCready slowly walked up to where the stunned Gunner lay, “Say hello to Winlock and Barnes in hell for me.”

With one final shot, the Gunners had been cleansed from Vault 95.

“Are you going to use that line  _ every  _ time you kill a Gunner of significance?” Simon asked MacCready as he stepped out of his power armor.

“Yeah, unless I think of a better one.” MacCready followed suit, the others mirroring their actions.

“I mean, it’s classic, but cliche.” Simon shrugged.

“Name a classic that  _ isn’t  _ a cliche.” MacCready retorted, crossing his arms.

“I think he’s got you there,” Rhiannon winked, “What do you think, Cait?”

There was no response from the Irishwoman.

“Cait?”

Rhiannon turned around to see her standing near a desk with a terminal, staring through a glass pane. On the other side was a small room with some medical equipment, including a chair set up with wires, a pair of hefty needles at neck level, and a set of manacles to hold the occupant in place. Hopefully this was that machine Cait had mentioned and not some instrument of torture.

“The answer to me problems is sittin’ in that room,” Cait murmured, staring past the glass at the medical room on the other side, “But I dunno if I can go through with it.”

“What?!” MacCready snapped, “Just get in there!”

“Shut up, MacCready,” Simon snapped at the rifleman before he turned to the addict, “Cait, cold feet is natural, but you’ve come so far. You can’t give up now.”

“MacCready, I know you’re angry with me for sayin’ that… An’ you have every right to be.” Cait held her hands up, “But what if the Psycho’s the only thing that’s been keepin’ me together? What if this opens me eyes, and I don’t like what I see? There were  _ reasons  _ I dulled the pain, things I didn’t want to face, things I wanted to forget. I’d almost rather be spittin’ blood than relivin’ the past.”

“We’ll face that pain  _ together _ ,” Rhiannon vowed, taking one of Cait’s hands in both of hers.

“You’ve…” Cait’s eyes welled up, and a few stray tears rolled down her cheeks, “You’ve already done  _ so much _ and you keep offering to do more… who the hell am I to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

Cait took a deep breath, casting one more look to the room on the other side of the glass.

“I’m gonna go sit in the chair. Whenever you’re ready… you go ahead and throw the switch.”

“I’ll work the terminal,” Simon volunteered, “Rhiannon, MacCready… you should go in there with her… this could be… uncomfortable.”

Nodding to the mechanic, Rhiannon pressed the button to open the door, leading Cait into the room by the hand. The Irishwoman gingerly sat down in the detox chair, making herself as comfortable as she could. The General and MacCready each took a side, holding one of Cait’s hands tightly as she took a deep breath and nodded to Simon on the other side of the glass. After a moment, the man stepped away from the terminal, and the machine came to life.

Both needles pierced the sides of Cait’s neck and began to pump, sorting through her bloodstream. As the machine did its work, Cait let out a pained scream, gripping Rhiannon and MacCready’s hands tightly. She grit her teeth, trying her best to bear the agony through what felt like an eternity before the needles retreated from her neck. Whimpering and with shaky breaths, Cait slouched back into the chair.

“Are you alright Cait?” Rhiannon asked, “How do you feel?”

“Strange…” Cait answered distantly, “I feel really strange… everythin’ feels…  _ different… _ everythin’ feels…  _ clearer… _ colors, sounds, smells…  _ nothing’  _ is like how I remember it.”

“That might mean it worked,” MacCready suggested.

“More than might, I think,” Rhiannon replied.

“I… I can’t believe it worked…” Despite her wooziness, Cait gave the brightest smile Rhiannon had ever seen from her, “The cravin’ the  _ pain…  _ hell, even the  _ rush…  _ they’ve disappeared! Was I  _ really  _ that far gone?”

“The pain’s gone too?”

“I wouldn’t say I’m at me best,” Cait admitted, “But  _ somethin’s _ changed. That sick feelin’, the pain… it’s gone from stabbin’ to dull. I dunno, maybe some of it was in me head? Doesn’t matter. I haven’t felt this good in a  _ long  _ time.”

“I’m glad you’re alright,” Rhiannon sighed in relief, “I was worried about you.”

“Seems you’re not the only one…” Cait mused, “I have a feelin’ that Tommy had this in mind the all along… clever ol’ bastard kicked me outta the Combat Zone so I’d clean meself up, and somehow he knew you’d be up for the challenge. Must’ve saw somethin’ in you that I’d missed.”

“Well, yeah… my charming personality!” Rhiannon teased, giving Cait’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Something like that,” Cait smirked, slowly getting out of the chair with Rhiannon and MacCready’s help, “Listen, I’m never gonna forget what you- all of you- did for me today. You all stepped up and helped when everyone else in me life cashed out. I know I suck at ‘thank yous’ but that’s the best you’re gonna get out of me.”

“It’ll have to do,” MacCready sighed, but a smile tugged at his lips.

* * *

“See? Dry land before you could miss it.”

“Woof.”

“Hey, we took care of the Mirelurk. It was a smooth trip.”

“Grrr.” Dogmeat hopped out of the boat as soon as it was beached, leaving Lilith to get out and drag it up onto the sand.

“Well, we’ve got some time before we have to row back, so you can relax.” Assuring that the boat was safe, the rope that bound it to land tied tight, Lily headed up the shore after the dog. Dogmeat sniffed the air and let out a huff of disgust.

“What- oh  _ God _ . What is that?” Lilith gagged, pulling the front of her trench coat over her nose. “You think that’s the farm?”

“Awoo.”

“Well, I mean it might be worse if something  _ else _ around her smelled like this.” Lilith reluctantly led them towards the source of the odor.

“Nope, it’s just the farm,” A figure waved at the approaching pair, leaning against an old concrete building, “Place was some kind of a waste treatment plant before the bombs dropped. Now it’s the best soil in the Commonwealth… if you can get past the smell.”

“Well, I guess you get used to it,” Lily chuckled, waving back. “Lilith Rook and Dogmeat, uh... Commonwealth Minutemen... I guess.”

“Roger Warwick,” The man approached, dusting off his hands, “So, what brings you out across the water? Had to be urgent if you didn’t take the land route.”

“Yeah, Colonel Shaw sent us out here to see if you’ve reconsidered about joining the Minutemen, and she told us to be swift about it, and after the month I’ve had, I don’t think twice about jumping when she says to jump.”

“Well…” Roger paused, taking a moment to think, “Well, I’ll tell you what. We wouldn’t mind having extra protection out here. The Atom Cats up the road keep pretty well to themselves, despite occasionally helping out around here in exchange for supplies, but it’s not like they’re keeping watch for us twenty-four-seven. And there’ve been some Super Mutants lurking around, and it sure as hell makes me nervous.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking. We’ll join the Minutemen if you can spare a few soldiers to live here and help guard the place. Preferably ones that are good with kids… Wally wants to be a Minuteman when he grows up. And, those Super Mutants have to be taken care of.”

“We’ll tell the Colonel and get some people out here later today or tomorrow. And by the end of the week, those mutants will be a distant memory. You’ve got the best men and women in the Commonwealth looking out for you.”

“Bark, bark!”

“And the best boy,” Lilith added.

“Well, it all hinges on those Super Mutants,” Roger gave a tight-lipped frown, “I’ll get some temporary bedding, and you’ll have a week to clear them out. Otherwise, I’m afraid we’ll have to decline and send you back. But if you  _ can _ get it done, we’ll put the work in to build a bunkhouse and some guard posts.”

“We’ll get it done,” Lily promised, as Dogmeat wagged his tail in agreement.

* * *

The Overseer’s office, once it had been cleared of the skeletons, was cozy enough for the party to camp in. Rhiannon and Preston had laid out their sleeping bags nearest the door, to be the first line of defense, and the others had more or less huddled around the edges of the room. Now, as they sorted through the supplies and managed to get a small fire going in a trashcan, Simon had managed to scrape together a decent enough meal.

“Jesus,” Simon blinked as Cait finished off a third helping of the squirrel stew, “You’re eating like you’ve never been fed in your life.”

“I can actually  _ taste  _ it now,” Cait shrugged, reaching to fill her bowl yet again, “Has anyone told you you’re a good cook? Because  _ damn _ , this is good.”

“Well… uhh…” Simon turned a little red, scratching the back of his neck, “I… just made use of what we had…”

“Maybe you should leave it at three.” Valentine warned, “That detox must’ve done a number on your system. You should probably quit while you’re ahead and think about lying down.”

“What are ya, my gran’pa?” Cait scoffed, but set her bowl back down all the same. It was quickly picked up by MacCready.

“Waste not,” The rifleman shrugged as he dug in, “But he’s right, you should probably get some rest.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m-” Cait’s sentence was interrupted by a lengthy yawn, “Nevermin’ I’m goin’ t’bed. G’night everyone.”

“Night, Cait.” MacCready responded, his cheeks full of stew. The others also bid Cait a goodnight as she climbed into her sleeping bag. Despite her initial protest, the redhead was sleeping soundly within moments.

Simon lowered the volume of his Pip-Boy and a companionable silence settled over the group. As they idled and readied themselves for bed, Rhiannon glanced over in time to see Nick hunched over, his red screwdriver out as he adjusted the mechanical hand that had been giving him so much trouble lately. There was a small spark, and the synth cursed as his fingers twitched.

“You okay, Valentine?” Preston asked, looking over at the sound of the Synth’s voice.

“Yeah,” Nick responded almost before Preston had finished talking, “Accidentally poked a live wire.”

“Hey, Simon?” Rhiannon reached over and set a hand on the mechanic’s arm.

“Hmm?” Simon looked up from his Pip-boy, a bit of hair falling over one of his eyes. Rhiannon swallowed hard and pulled her hand away, folding it in her lap to resist the powerful urge to brush it away.

“Um... can we talk? Alone?”

“Uhhh… sure?” Simon blinked. Leaving the holotape video game he was about to play in his Pip-Boy, he got up from the chair he occupied, “Atrium’s good, right?”

“Yeah, atrium’s perfect.” Rhiannon stood as well and followed him out, ignoring the puzzled looks Preston and MacCready shot their way. Heading down the stairs and back into that wide open room where they’d had yet another shootout with the Gunners, Rhiannon tried her best not to stare as Simon leaned against the balcony railing.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Rhiannon felt herself flush, and averted her gaze, looking back over her shoulder. Where should she even begin? Should she tell Simon about the feelings she harbored? Lilith had encouraged as much, and honestly now was as good a time as any.

“Uh, well… I had something that I’ve been needing to discuss with you for awhile, but… it never felt like the right time, and honestly, maybe there  _ is _ no right time for this.”

“Is something wrong?” Simon asked, concern washing over his face, “I mean… you can talk to me. Wait, is that what people say in conversations like this? I mean, you  _ can  _ talk to me and technically you  _ are  _ talking to me right now… except  _ I’m _ talking, or more specifically,  _ rambling  _ like an idiot.”

Rhiannon felt a surge of affection as Simon rushed out his words. She wanted so badly to grab him, to kiss him. She took a step forward, hand reaching out for his… and stopped only an inch away.

“It’s just… well… um… I’m worried about Nick,” Rhiannon finished quickly, hand dropping back to her side.

“Is this about his hand?” Simon asked, looking briefly confused by the sudden changes in Rhiannon’s demeanor, but the mechanic seemed to let it go as he focused on the new topic, “I mean… I don’t really have my tools, so I can’t take a look at him… maybe after we could go to the Red Rocket-”

“No, it’s more than his hand.” The tightness in Rhiannon’s chest didn’t fade as they switched topics, but the knot in her stomach did a flip. “I... Honestly, I wanted to write it all off as stress and sleep deprivation, but I don’t think that’s what’s happening. The last time it happened it was... it was real.”

“Oh.” Simon blinked, “What… do you mean?”

“I’ve been trying all month to think of another explanation, to pretend it was all in my head, but it’s not. It can’t be. Not with all the glitches and everything else. It’s happening and it’s getting worse, and I’m scared for him. For all of us.”

“Rhiannon,” Simon grabbed the General’s hand, “What’s going on? What ‘ _ glitches _ ’ and what ‘ _ everything else _ ’ are you talking about?”

“It’s Kellogg,” Rhiannon whispered. Her hand, held in Simon’s, had begun to tremble. “I think he...  _ downloaded _ himself in Nick. Is that possible?”

“Kellogg?” Simon repeated, almost as quietly, “Shit. No, I don’t think he ‘downloaded’ himself, but… when Nick plugged into what was left of his brain… something must’ve-”

Simon stopped dead in his tracks when some movement in the background caught his eye. Valentine was on the warpath, his eyes a sickly, dull orange. In his hand, his trusty pipe revolver, raised, aimed, and ready to fire on the unsuspecting General.

“Rhiannon!” Simon shouted, pushing the woman off to the side just as a gunshot rang out, echoing around the hollow halls of Vault 95. Rhiannon’s head hit the floor, and it took her a moment to blink the stars from her vision.

Simon was on his knees, one hand holding him up, the other clutching at the bleeding bullet wound in his side. The mechanic was breathing hard and fast through his teeth, struggling to get back to his feet and at the gun on his hip.

“I thought I told you,” Kellogg’s low, furious voice curled out of Valentine, “I had this all as I wanted it. I told you not to bother with Mr. Lopez here, Rhiannon. But you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?”

“Alt-” Simon coughed as he set his back against the railing to steady himself, “Alternatively… you could go fuck yourself, Kellogg.”

The orange eyes of the Synth shifted to Simon, and he set the barrel of the revolver between the mechanic’s eyes.

“Shame you’ll have to watch me kill another of your little lovebirds, Rhiannon. Only this time, I won’t miss.”

“No, please-” Rhiannon scrambled to her feet. “Kellogg, just-”

With a flicker of yellow light brightening the luminous eyes, Valentine took a step back, lowering his gun. The Detective blinked, looking between the two humans in confusion. “What’s happening?”

“You… have a problem, Nick.” Simon gripped the balcony tightly, “Kellogg’s not as dead as we would’ve hoped.”

“Wha-” Valentine’s question died as his eyes dimmed once more, and with a snarl, Kellogg lifted his gun and pulled the trigger. In a spray of blood, Simon was sent backwards over the railing, Rhiannon’s scream blending with the sound of the gunshot.

“What’s going on?!” MacCready and Preston burst into the atrium, guns at the ready, “Rhiannon, what’s happening?”

“Kellogg-” Rhiannon pointed a shaking finger at the Synth, as Kellogg in Valentine’s body turned his gun on her. With another burst of yellow light behind his eyes, the next shot went wide, hitting the wall beside her head, instead of catching her in the face.

“Whoa, what the hell, Nick?!” MacCready all but threw his rifle down and tackled the Synth, wrestling the gun away from him and sliding it across the floor.

“Are you okay?” Preston asked, rushing over to grab Rhiannon and pull her against his chest. He kept his body between her and Valentine, acting as a shield.

“Simon, he shot Simon,” Rhiannon replied, clutching the front of Preston’s coat. “He went over the railing!”

After a few flickers between yellow and orange, the Synth’s eyes settled on the luminous, bright yellow of Nick Valentine. “It’s good, kid, I’m me again. I shut the bastard down, but I don’t know how long it’ll hold.”

“Preston, keep an eye on him, just in case,” MacCready nodded to the Minuteman, “I’ll get Simon.”

“Okay.” Preston nodded to the Rifleman, and aimed his laser musket at the Synth, still standing between him and the shocked General. “You got Stimpacks?”

“I got one!” MacCready called up as he jumped over the edge of the stairwell, “It’ll do for now-”

“Is he okay? Is he alive?!” Rhiannon called, racing out from behind the cover of Preston to lean over the railing and look down. MacCready was kneeling beside Simon, rummaging through his bag for a Stimpack. As soon as he had it, he jabbed it into the man’s chest. Simon sucked in a sharp, deep breath, and began to cough.

“We’re gonna have to get those bullets out of him, ASAP,” MacCready called up, “I think one got a little too close to a lung.”

“I’m sorry,” Nick’s voice shuddered, all of the sarcastic edge they were used to hearing gone. “I should have said something. The blank spots in my memory… I’m so sorry.”

“Come on,” MacCready sighed, carefully helping Simon to stand. “We gotta get you up the stairs.”

“My head hurts.” Simon complained weakly as the mercenary helped him shuffle towards the steps.

“Your  _ pride’s _ gonna hurt worse when you have to tell Lily she was right,” MacCready teased.

“We need to go back,” Rhiannon turned to Preston, “Even with power armor, Simon’s in no shape for the Glowing Sea, he needs somewhere safe to rest.”

“Yes, General,” Preston replied, shifting so he continued to keep himself between her and Nick. “We’ll set out first thing in the morning.”

Leading Nick ahead, Preston and Rhiannon guided him forward with their weapons drawn, while MacCready took his time helping Simon along.

“It’s not your fault, Nick,” Simon called ahead to the Synth, “It’s not your fault. It’s Kellogg’s. And we’re going to get him the fuck out of your head.”

“The sooner, the better, kid,” Nick called back. His index finger twitched. “The sooner, the better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I've been coping with insomnia and the summer heat with "Uno: The Movie" ??


	36. Dance With The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The attack on Gunners Plaza finally commences, but the aftermath brings unexpected surprises for Caldwell and Moira.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Torture
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Breaking Benjamin.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY SIX**

**DANCE WITH THE DEVIL**

* * *

**April 12th, 2288.**

It wasn’t long into the morning when news came from Jamaica Plain that the rest of the raiders had successfully exterminated the feral ghoul presence, and were preparing for the assault. The air was abuzz with excitement, anticipation, bloodlust. They were on Commonwealth soil now, and about to take their primary stronghold from the Gunners, as well as  _ four  _ settlements in one swoop.

As the day went on, the Harbingers were drilled by Fontayne, more serious and to task than the others had seen him before; the Disciples sharpened their blades and discussed how they intended to play with their new victims; the Pack hunted for food as practice; the Operators discussed their strategies; and the Rust Devils made sure everyone’s weapons were ready, and fine-tuned their robot soldiers.

Finally, the sun went down.

Once the sky had turned to the bruised blue and black, Caldwell ordered everyone to positions. Leading his task force around the outskirts of Gunner Plaza, they came upon an old railway tower. Inside, a pair of Gunners nervously paced, keeping their eyes peeled for moving shadows in the dark.

“Ghost,” Moira whispered from her place at Caldwell’s side. Without a sound, a small, stocky woman with white-blonde hair appeared at her elbow, blue eyes large and intense. “Take them out. Silently.”

The Harbinger nodded, and pulled a hood over her pale hair, and a cowl up over her features. Stepping away from the group, she vanished into the shadows almost unnaturally. A minute passed and one of the Gunners dropped out of view. Another few seconds, and the other followed.

“Bullseye, Skynyrd, take positions in the tower. Silenced rifles. Any Gunners in our path up, waste ‘em. Any patrols that come around, waste ‘em if you can get away with it.” Caldwell pointed at two of the Doomed, “Everyone else, with me. We’re going up the access stairwell on the side of the building.”

As the pair split off, the rest of the group followed behind the Overboss, moving carefully to avoid detection. As they approached the Pre-War fire escape, they could faintly make out the shapes of a pair of Gunners, each with the glowing pinpricks of cigarettes lighting their faces. Suddenly, both figures dropped to the ground, their cigarettes flying up into the air.

“Watch your footing,” Caldwell warned the group as he set a hand on the railing of the stairs, “If any of you get us caught, I’ll hang you from the step you stumble on.”

“So trip early,” Fontayne whispered with a smirk.

The threat proved unnecessary as the soldiers moved up the stairs carefully, almost soundless in their ascent. At the top, Caldwell and Moira each looked left and right. To their left, they could see a commanding officer wielding an Alaskan Gauss rifle. In that direction, intel indicated that there’d be a stairwell to which the Gunners with the heavy ordnance patrolled. On the right, just more patrolling grunts.

Moira held up a hand and gave a few signals. Fontayne and several of the Harbingers headed right, low to the ground, while she and those that remained moved left, just as inconspicuous. Caldwell took four of the Doomed left as well, two going right with Fontayne, leaving six to wait on the stairs.

“…Winlock should’ve reported in by now,” The officer paced back and forth, finger tapping the grip of her Gauss rifle anxiously, “He’s fine. Everything’s fine. He and Barnes can take care of themselves. Must be another Yao Guai nest under the Interchange.”

“Must be,” Moira agreed, before her hand clamped down on the woman’s mouth, and her knife opened the Gunner’s throat.

In similar fashion, the Harbingers descended upon the other Gunners that patrolled the rooftops. Caldwell led the Doomed over towards the stairwell, motioning for them to split up into pairs. Ducking low, the Doomed’s black armor blended in with dark night as they slunk up behind the pair of patrolling grenadiers, each armed with a Fat Man.

In near perfect unison, the Doomed sunk their blades into the Gunners’ necks, their partner grabbing the Fat Man before it could hit the ground. After bringing the heavy weapons back up to the roof, the Doomed brought the bodies of the fallen Gunners with them as they returned to Caldwell, throwing the corpses into a pile for them to be sorted through and robbed of their weapons, caps, and ammunition.

“Shall I give the signal?” Moira asked, looking around to be sure the rooftop was cleared.

“Are we clear?” Caldwell asked Fontayne.

“As a Nuka Quartz,” Fontayne replied.

“Quartz isn’t clear.” Caldwell deadpanned.

“Whatever the clear one is.”

“The  _ Clear _ ?” Another Harbinger supplied.

“That one didn’t make it past-”

“Will you  _ shut it _ ?” Caldwell hissed, “Alright. Rotter and Sob, each of you take a Fat Man. When the Banshee signals the attack, I want you to fire on the Gunners below with it.”

“You got it, boss.” Rotter, the Ghoul saluted, hefting the catapult over his shoulder, “Just like old times.”

“Everyone else, get to positions. Two Doomed at every entrance and elevator.” Caldwell ordered his soldiers.

“Spread out,” Moira commanded the Harbingers. “We’re going to strike the fear of God into these assholes.”

Her people scattered, taking various positions along the roof and stairwell. Once she was satisfied that they had covered the area, she glanced to the Doomed. “If you can, you might want to cover your ears.”

“Is it  _ that _ loud?”

“Yes.”

“Just do it.” Caldwell glanced around at the Doomed. Those that could shrugged and covered their ears. “We’re ready.”

Moira nodded and sucked in a deep breath of cold night air. She held it for but a moment, before screaming. The sound was almost unearthly, and the Harbingers that hid around the plaza took up the shrieking, filling the night with bloodchilling screams. As the sound rang around Gunner Plaza, Rotter and Sob let loose a pair of mini nukes upon the sandbags and barricades that the Gunners rushed to below.

“We’re under attack!”

“By who? Where are they?!”

“There! Look!”

In the distance, over a hundred raiders charged Gunner Plaza, guns blazing. Caldwell watched, a wicked smile on his face as the night was lit up by the flashes of gunfire and various explosions.

As the Harbingers continued to fill the air with their shrill battle cries, racing into the fray, Moira let her own voice fade and looked to Caldwell, a wide grin spreading over her face as well. “This is it. Our first step.”

“Indeed it is,” Caldwell walked over to the nearby elevator, pressing the call button and drawing a knife from his belt, “This elevator leads to the basement, and to the first officer we have to contain. Shall we?”

“We shall,” Moira replied, drawing a pair of her own knives.

With a soft ‘ding’ the elevator reached its destination. A pair of Gunners rushed out, only to be caught in the raiders’ knives. Caldwell grabbed his victim’s combat rifle by the barrel, pulling him into a brutal stab that caught him in the neck and nearly took his head off. Moira’s opponent ended up with both knifes buried in his chest. She twisted them back and forth until he hit his knees and then the floor. Straightening their coats, the pair of raiders stepped into the elevator, Caldwell pressing the button for their descent.

As soft, jazzy music played amidst the slow descent, the raiders shifted and shuffled in anticipation. Moira’s foot tapped impatiently, and the Banshee was unable to keep from shifting. Caldwell twisted and twirled his knife around his fingers, leaning against the wall.

“Given that it’s Pre-War, we should be thankful that this thing fuckin’ works,” Caldwell finally broke the silence, “But it’s so. Fucking. Slow.”

“I suppose that means we have some time to kill,” Moira mused, sheathing her smaller knife. Her bloodied hand reached out and gently brushed against his.

“I suppose so.” Caldwell shrugged before closing the gap between them, crashing his lips against Moira’s and pushing her against the wall. Her arms wound around his neck as she kissed him back hungrily, leaving a crimson handprint at the back of his head.

“There’s a song about this-” Caldwell chuckled, his free hand winding into Moira’s hair, “About fucking in an elevator. Pre-War music had it all.”

“Do we have time to fuck?” Moira raised an eyebrow, smiling wickedly. “Or just get hot and bothered?”

“Well…” Caldwell’s hand trailed down Moira’s chest before the elevator stopped abruptly.

_ Ding. _

A moment later, the doors opened and a pair of Gunners rushed in.

“Hostile-”

“What the fuck?!”

The pair stared blankly into the empty elevator, then back to each other, then back to the elevator.

“You go in first.” One pushed her partner with her forearm.

“Fuck that,” The other spat, “It’s ladies first.”

“Yeah. Which is why  _ you  _ go in first.” She repeated, shoving him forward into the elevator.

The pair looked around, but there wasn’t a lot of space for two people. There was blood splattered around, a few boot prints on the floor and handprints on the walls and button.

“So… that blood wasn’t here when Ray and Rey went up.”

“Thank you, captain obvious.”

“That means I outrank you, bitch.”

“Will you-”

The woman’s insult was cut short when a drop of blood landed on her cheek. The pair slowly looked up, just in time for the doors behind them to automatically close and the pair of raiders that had propped themselves up against the ceiling to descend upon them like spiders to flies. When the doors opened again a moment later, the elevator was coated in blood.

“Ryder’s in here somewhere,” Caldwell wiped the blood off of his knife with some fabric he’d torn from one of the Gunner’s shirts, “He’s a balding, middle-aged motherfucker, probably wearing some combat armor. All the officers get the good shit.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Moira replied, licking her blades clean as she stepped out of the elevator.

“Pimento and Diaz should be right behind us to take Ryder into custody,” Caldwell rolled his shoulders. “Let’s go find a punk bitch.”

“After you, James.”

* * *

Captain Wes paced back and forth behind his desk. He clasped his hands behind his back to stop them from shaking, hearing the distant echoes of gunfire. “We’re falling. Fast. We need to do something,  _ now _ .”

Stopping hard and slamming his hands on his desk, Wes leaned forward, “What do we know about them?”

“Most of ‘em ain’t part of any raider gang from around here,” Cruz reported, “They’re too damn organized, and I’m pretty sure we’d know if there was a gang around here dressed like fuckin’ furries. But they got some Rust Devils with them.”

“Fuck.” Wes cursed, slamming a fist on the table again, “I fucking  _ knew  _ Ivey was planning something…”

“What are your orders, captain?” One of the guards in the room asked.

Wes paused, “Cruz, just  _ how  _ bad was it out there?”

“We’re fucked. We’re Goodneighbor-back-alley-black-market porn kinda fucked.”

Wes took a deep breath, scratching his mustache as he thought, “Alright. I’m going to Quincy.”

“We’re retreating?” Cruz asked, dumbfounded.

“No,  _ I’m _ retreating. As long as I live, the Gunners have a chance to take this plaza back from these two-bit chemhead shit-fucks, so I’m going to call in every motherfucker in the Commonwealth to rain hell on their heads. Which means  _ I  _ have to get to Quincy, and  _ you  _ have to cover my escape.”

Cruz looked as if he were about to furiously protest, when gunfire rang out within the building.

“Shit!” The guards took up positions around the room, drawing their weapons. Cruz took a position just in front of Wes, the Gunner Captain arming himself with the meanest looking gun he could find.

The gunfire continued to intensify, small explosions ringing out from the other side of GNN’s recording room’s door. Captain Wes and his guards began to shift and sweat, not sure of who- or what- was attacking. Did those raider fucks break in? Was it an inside job? Who was winning?

Suddenly, the gunfire came to a halt, and the silence was even more nerve-wracking than the noise. As moments passed, the Gunners looked back and forth at each other, guns trained on the door.

_ Bang. Bang. Bang. _

“Captain Wes,” A deep male voice called from the other side, “My name is Overboss Caldwell, and I lead the raiders of Nuka World. We are assuming direct control of the plaza. I am giving you this one chance to parley, to discuss the terms of your surrender. I suggest you take it.”

The Gunners in the room shifted uncomfortably. Wes glared at the door, considering the offer.

“Open the fucking door,” Wes finally said, sinking into his chair, “But don’t lower your guns. If this ‘Overboss’ tries anything, fuckin’ kill him.”

The doors opened slowly to reveal a pair of raiders in the hall: the man who had spoken and a short, slight, white-haired woman by his side. Both were soaked with blood, and the woman was licking her knife blade clean.

“Smart man,” Caldwell remarked as he and Moira stepped into the room.

“Start talking before I blow your head off,” Wes snapped, aiming his gun at the man, but cutting his eyes to the wicked, fanged smile on the woman’s face.

“I’ll be blunt, Wes. Gunner Plaza has fallen, and no one knows it except the people in this room,” Caldwell crossed his hands behind his back.

“So what the fuck do you want from us?” Cruz asked before Wes could stop him, “Or are you just here to gloat?”

“Total surrender,” Caldwell responded, not turning to the grey-haired man who spoke, “Gunner Plaza will be mine. The Gunners will swear allegiance to me. And I will accept nothing less.”

Wes paused, an incredulous look crossing his face contorting into anger, “Who the  _ fuck _ do you think you-”

Caldwell, without breaking eye contact with Wes, drew a black .44 magnum from behind his back, splattering the brains of both of the guards on his left across the wall. Moira threw the pair of knives she held at the guards to the right, catching both in their throats. Wes and Cruz stared blankly, the room bereft of four Gunners in less than a second.

“I’m sorry, did we break your concentration?” Caldwell raised an eyebrow, “Please continue. You were saying… ‘who the fuck do I think I am?’ Well. I am James Caldwell Jr., the Lone Wanderer, and Overboss of Nuka World. And I need no further introduction than that.”

“And your crazy bitch?” Cruz asked, staring, aware now of just how much blood was around the woman’s mouth.

“The Banshee,” Moira answered smoothly, her placid smile unnerving in its calm.

Wes sighed, leaning back into his chair. After a moment of deliberation, he set down the assault rifle he wielded. “Alright… you know what, Caldwell? You drive a hard bargain.”

Suddenly, Wes shot to his feet, and drew a .44 of his own. Only Caldwell seemed to anticipate this, as he launched into action, twisting his torso as he used an old chair to jump up and over the table as he drove his knee into the Gunner captain’s face. Wes dropped unconscious immediately, a trail of blood pouring from his newly broken nose.

“If I die, I’m takin’ one of you freaks with me!” Cruz shouted, aiming his rifle at the Banshee. Moira’s eyes widened, her mind calculating in the span of a fraction of a heartbeat how far she was from her blades, and that there was nothing to shield her from Cruz’s shot. But she had to try.

Moira dove forward, hand outstretched, but just as her fingers brushed the hilt of her hunting knife, the rifle’s shot resounded. She flinched, eyes shutting, but the anticipated pain never came. Confused, she turned, and saw Caldwell stagger backwards, clutching his chest. The Overboss stumbled, falling backwards onto the ground.

The Banshee stared, silent, then left her knives behind and dove straight for Cruz. With a feral snarl, she grabbed onto his gun, shoving the man against the wall with all the strength in her deceptively small frame. Her knee sharply drove into his groin, and as his knees buckled, her teeth latched onto his neck, beginning to tear viciously into the muscle there.

“Moira!”

Suddenly a hand landed on her shoulder, pulling the Banshee back from the grey-haired Gunner. Moira’s teeth snapped the air, before she realized who had pulled her away. She blinked at Caldwell, looking between his face and chest as her rage subsided.

“You-”

Caldwell held up the bullet, slightly warped, only the tip red with blood, “This coat of mine isn’t just for show.”

Moira blinked again, before turning back to where Cruz leaned against the wall, hands clutching the wound on the side of his neck. “Bastard still deserved it for firing.”

“You know what?” Caldwell set his hands on Moira’s shoulders, “I think we just found who you can use to practice crucifixion…”

* * *

**April 13th, 2288.**

By the time dawn approached, Gunner Plaza had fallen. The sky filled with crimson clouds as the sun began to crest above the horizon. Wes, Cruz, and Ryder, the three highest-ranking Gunners, were crucified, left to hang atop their former base of operations, at the mercy of the elements and birds of the Wasteland. Within the former GNN and Telecom broadcasting station, the raiders carved a space for themselves with what the Gunners used to own.

The raiders that had come were now making use of the Gunner’s sleeping quarters, while their bosses gathered for a meeting before they, too, could be dismissed to get their well-earned rest. Within the main broadcasting room, formerly Wes’ command center, Caldwell hosted the members of the Inner Council in attendance as members of the Doomed set up the radio transmitters that would allow for communication between Nuka World and the Plaza around them.

“I want to begin by congratulating all of you,” Caldwell looked to the faces before him, “We’ve taken one of the most heavily fortified locations in the entire Commonwealth, and four settlements with it. This achievement is the first of many to come. Well done.”

“Thank you, Overboss,” Mags tipped her head.

“I will remain in the Commonwealth for a week to oversee that Gunner Plaza is sufficiently outfitted and defended. Nothing compels you to remain, though I suggest you decide who to leave behind, both here in the plaza, and in your new territories.”

“I’ll have to discuss with those that volunteered,” Moira said, almost losing the end of her sentence to a yawn that she hid behind a bloody hand.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Nisha responded.

“You shall all be rewarded,” Caldwell announced, “But… I’m sure we’d all rather get some rest first. You’re dismissed for now.”

The raiders slowly filed out, eager to find their beds. Moira smiled up at Nisha as she moved to follow her out, hoping to get a few words in with the Disciple about the previous night’s torture and crucifixion.

“Banshee, if you have a moment,” One of the Doomed stopped Moira before she could leave.

“I do,” Moira said, slowing to a halt, and watching Nisha go on ahead with clear disappointment.

The man waited a moment until the other raiders had dispersed before Caldwell approached, gesturing for him to get back to work.

“Your reward is ready.” The Overboss said, hands behind his back.

“It’s not a warm bed?” Moira smirked.

“I wouldn’t call that your reward, but such a thing may be in your immediate future.”

Caldwell led Moira back towards the elevator to the basement. The Banshee couldn’t deny her curiosity, the eagerness taking the edge off her exhaustion. Passing through the snaking corridors, they eventually came to a halt in front of a metal door.

“Open it.” Caldwell urged her, his palm gently resting on her back. Moira glanced to him, then set her hand on the handle and opened the door wide. On the other side, the room was sparsely furnished. In the center of the room, a figure sat, tied to a chair, a bag over their head.

“I don’t understand,” Moira deadpanned, stepping into the room and approaching the figure.

“You will.” Caldwell responded enigmatically as he closed the door behind him.

Moira reached out and pulled the bag away, but it fell out of her hands immediately as she took a step back. She recognized the face immediately, even though it had been thirteen years since she’d seen it last.

His greying hair was still short, his cheeks coated with scruff. A beard hung from his chin, not unlike a Pre-War animal called a ‘goat.’ His face was decorated with burns and scars, with three in particular that looked just as ugly as they did over a decade ago. The man’s grey eyes widened, twitching back and forth between the white-haired woman and the bald, bearded man in the background.

“Deckard,” Moira breathed.

“Surprise.” Caldwell smirked from his place behind her, leaned against the wall. Moira took another step back, before turning and grabbing the Overboss by the front of his coat and pulling him into a kiss.

“Thank you.”

“You can thank me by letting me watch you work.” Caldwell grinned, a hand trailing down Moira’s cheek, “Show me your worst.”

“Oh, I will,” she replied, matching his grin and giving him another kiss. Stepping back, Moira paced around Deckard, circling like a shark before she stopped in front of him, pulling the gag from his mouth.

“Where the fuck- who the fuck are you?” Deckard spat immediately, baring crooked yellow teeth at the Banshee. She smiled back.

“You don’t remember me, Deckard?” Moira asked, leaning down. “I suppose I was much shorter then. Not so fair, either.”

“I have no idea who the fuck you are,” the Gunner snarled. Moira crouched to better meet his eye.

“Salem,” she said, her smile fading. “Thirteen years ago.”

Deckard squinted, trying to recall, and then threw back his head and began to laugh. “You were that scrawny brat that tried to bite me when I tossed you into the cellar. Suppose I didn’t bury you deep enough if you crawled out of there. How are your parents?”

"When I send you to hell, maybe you can ask them,” Moira replied, her blood beginning to boil.

“Still a little spitfire, huh?” Deckard chuckled, shifting in his seat as he looked Moira over from toe to tip. “Maybe I should’a taken you with me, got you to fight for me. Maybe I should’a made you my bitch. Bet I could give it to you better than that prick in the shades-”

Moira’s fist struck him hard in the mouth, shutting him up rather abruptly. “Your time for talking is over now. Now, I’m going to speak.”

Deckard glared up at her, but as blood trickled down his chin from a split lip, he relented and fell silent.

“I used to think the shit that happened in Salem made me who I am, but now... now I think it just finally held up the mirror to what was inside me all along. I’m a monster, Deckard. I am a vile, deadly creature of the wastes, and you had the misfortune to cross me that day and unlock the cage. So now you get to play with what was inside.” Moira drew one of her knives, spinning it while the Gunner watched the blade gleam. “But while I am a monster, you are something worse. And so, because I am not like you, I will grant you a small mercy.”

“Will you, now?” Deckard sneered.

“I’m going to tell you what to expect,” Moira continued without missing a beat as she drove her knife through the back of his hand. She was rewarded with a cry of agony, and drew her second knife. “The first thing I’m going to do is pull out your nails, fingers and toes, one by one.”

She drove the second knife through the back of Deckard’s other hand, relishing in the scream of pain and speaking with no inflection in her voice. “Then, I’m going to pull out your teeth. One. By. One. And then you’ll lose your tongue, your ears, your nose, and one of your eyes. I want you to be able to watch me work. Once we’ve got you looking pretty, I’m going to start taking you apart. You’ll be castrated, and then I’ll remove your fingers and your toes one joint at a time. Then your feet, and your hands. And then I’m going to stab you until you stop twitching. And then me and my new family are going to eat what’s left of you.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Deckard growled, but there was genuine fear behind his eyes now.

“Yes,” Moira agreed, as she grabbed his thumb and pulled her smaller switchblade from out of her boot. She drove the blade under the Gunner’s nail and began to pry it off. “Yes, I am.”

* * *

Much to everyone’s surprise, days had passed without the Overboss, and Nuka World had  _ not _ burned down. However, once the word hit that they had successfully taken Gunner Plaza, the jubilation was so intense that the ‘party’ was beginning to approach a riot.

“Hey!” Gage’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers, “I get that we’re all excited, but y’all better tone it down a little. If Caldwell finds out y’all have been trashing the place, he’ll have each and every one of you responsible runnin’ the Gauntlet faster than you can say ‘Nuka Cola Quantum.’”

With that threat in place, the parties retreated back into the respective territories of the gangs, with smaller groups hitting Cappy’s Cafe and the Arcade. There was still an air of excitement that permeated the park, only now the celebration had a lower rate of collateral damage.

Three hours after the initial announcement, Gage called the representatives of each gang to the Fizztop Grille for a quick meeting. Comprised of seconds-in-command, and Scarlett, the group seemed almost awkward and uncomfortable as they took the chairs normally occupied by their superiors.

“Alright.” Gage leaned over the table, narrowing his eye at the faces of those assembled, “Gimme an update. What’s been going on, and what can we do to make sure things are in better shape when the bosses get back than when they left?”

“All good with the Rust Devils,” Ishmael nodded, “I basically run the fuckin’ show here, so no worries about keeping the boys and bots in line.”

“The Disciples are getting a little… antsy,” Savoy remained fairly taciturn, “We need some new playthings.”

“Alright. I’ll organize a raiding party. Pick out a few groups of three, and we’ll send ‘em out with a couple Doomed to bring in some fresh meat.” Gage wrote into a notepad. “Next?”

“Everything’s the same as it always is in Kiddie Kingdom,” Scarlett sighed, her chin resting in her palms.

“Fair enough,” Gage shrugged.

“Some of the Operators are in need of… entertainment,” William Black spoke next, his eyes drifting over Scarlett before remembering Brownstone’s threat, “We could use some whores.”

Occupants of the tables rolled what eyes they had and gave assorted groans and sighs.

“I’m sorry, ‘we’ or ‘you?’” Ishmael asked

“…Shut up.” William frowned.

“If you want a whore, buy one yourself,” Gage glared at the Operator, “That’s not going on Caldwell’s tab. Any  _ real  _ concerns?”

“…No…”

“Okay. Moving on.” Gage looked back and forth between the two men who hadn’t spoken.

“All quiet on the western front,” Witch reported with a small smile. “Everything’s running smooth now that we have Ellison and Fontayne in seperate locations.”

“Good to hear,” Gage nodded back to Witch with a smile of his own.

“Feed. Traps.”

The table turned over to the heavy-set man in the elephant mask. Witch’s jaw visibly tightened, and behind him, Sinead grew incredibly tense. Clearly Mason had found someone else to take up the mantle of the man they’d lost.

“Could you repeat that with some fuckin’ clarity?” Gage asked.

“Feed for beasts.” The Elephant growled out in his deep, rough voice, “Traps to capture more.”

“I’ll put an order in for both of them.” Gage wrote the request into his book, “But half the cost is coming from your pockets.”

The Elephant merely nodded from the seat he barely fit into.

“Alright. That’s it.” Gage stood up, “Get back to your gangs. Caldwell will be back in a week, but there’s no timetable for the rest, so get your shit together by then.”

The representatives and the Queen of Hearts rose to their feet and shuffled to the lift, but Witch and Sinead hung back by the table. Once the hulking form of the Elephant disappeared from sight, the female Harbinger released her breath. Witch reached over and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Head home. I’ll be there in a bit.”

Sinead nodded, regaining her composure and bringing up the last of the raiders as they left, the room empty now apart from Witch and Gage.

“What’s up?” Gage leaned against the wall, his notebook tucked away into his back pocket.

“That was good,” Witch praised, gesturing to the table. “Short, but good. You know you could be Overboss if you wanted.”

“Yeah, but I  _ don’t _ want to,” Gage sighed, running a hand over his short mohawk, “It’s easier- not to mention  _ safer _ -to be the man  _ behind _ the man than the man himself.”

“Preach,” Witch agreed, leaning on the back of a chair. “No sense being the face when you can still be the brain.”

“And Caldwell does a damn good job,” The Overboss’s second continued, “He actually  _ listens  _ to my advice, which is more than what I can say for most of the assholes I’ve worked with. And he hasn’t tried to kill me either… again, more than I can say for the others.”

“Hard to find the right people to work with in this world.” Witch hopped up onto the edge of the table. “When we find the right boss, we gotta hold onto them with both hands.”

“We’re not just talking about bosses now, are we?” Gage pushed himself from the wall, approaching Witch.

“Well, I  _ was _ , but I suppose you could really apply that to all relationships.” Witch smiled and reached out to rest a hand on Gage’s cheek. “You find the right people, and you hold onto them. It’s too easy to lose the ones you care about.”

“I don’t intend to lose you.”

Without another word, Gage and Witch crashed their lips together. Witch pulled the one-eyed raider closer, his tongue slipping past Gage’s lips.

“Ahem.”

Gage let out an exasperated growl as he turned towards where Goliath stood.

“Do not-”

“I fuckin’  _ know _ , Goliath!” Gage snapped, “‘Don’t fuck on the boss’s table,’ Jesus  _ Christ _ !”

“How long were you standing there?” Witch asked, pale.

* * *

What was left of Deckard was collected by a pair of Harbingers. Moira watched them go, stoic, covered in head to toe with the man’s blood, her knife held loosely in one hand. Caldwell remained at his post against the wall until after the Harbingers had left, then offered a piece of cloth to the Banshee.

“How was it?” He asked.

“Satiating,” Moira answered, taking the cloth. She cleaned her hands and face almost numbly, her stare affixing on the empty chair. “Incredibly satiating.”

Caldwell stepped beside her, putting a hand on the small of her back and pressing his lips to her temple, “You need to get clean. Let me help you with that.”

Moira nodded, still coming down from the high of her torture, exiting whatever trancelike state she’d entered as she meticulously carved Deckard to pieces. Caldwell walked towards an industrial sink, turning the handle and letting the strangely purified water flow from the tap. After throwing a few rags and strips of cloth in to soak, the Overboss shed his jacket and returned to Moira.

The Banshee had set her knives down on a nearby table and began to shed her clothes. “Thank you again, James.”

“I sent the Doomed to hunt him the moment you mentioned his name,” Caldwell confessed, taking the rag he’d given to Moira back and throwing it into the tub with the others, “They found him three days ago, and dragged him across the Commonwealth, just for you.”

“But... why?” Moira blinked, surprised by the admission.

“If I had the chance to hunt down the people who made me who I am, who turned the mirror on me…” Caldwell picked a clean rag, wringing it out before returning to Moira, “I’d want the chance to make them suffer for as long as I wanted. The least I can do is offer that satisfaction to you.”

Moira took the rag, then his hand. After a moment of searching for words, she merely leaned up and kissed him. Caldwell kissed back, breaking away reluctantly.

“We should clean you up a little first.”

“I thought I looked beautiful in blood,” Moira smirked, recalling his words the night they’d first fought at each other’s sides.

“Of course you do,” Caldwell smiled back, “But I’m not going to have that man’s blood in my mouth.”

“Fair enough.” Moira continued to wash herself clean. As she soaked the rag for the third time, she offered it to Caldwell. “Help me with my back?”

Caldwell nodded, claiming a cleaner cloth. As Moira made sure the ends of her hair were pulled out of the way, the Overboss gently sponged the blood away from between her shoulders. As he worked, his eyes traced the few scars she carried, wondering if any of them were courtesy of the man she’d slaughtered. Moira let out her breath, as well as the tension she’d been carrying, and she leaned into his touch.

As the cloth cleaned away the blood from her shoulders, Caldwell planted a few kisses on either one, a hand trailing down the Banshee’s arm. She enjoyed the attention for a few moments more, before turning and beginning to help the Overboss out of his shirt.

“I think I owe you a proper show of my gratitude.”

“Watching an artist at work was repayment… but if you want me, all you need is to ask.”

“I want you,” Moira replied, her hand trailing down his chest.

“Then have me.”

Moira reached up to pull him into another kiss, the hand on his torso moving to help free the Overboss from the rest of his clothing. Caldwell’s hands trailed around the Banshee’s body, carefully tracing her scars and where he knew her to be sensitive. Once Caldwell was out of his pants, Moira gently pushed him down into the now vacant chair, climbing onto his lap immediately.

“We should’ve gone to my room,” Caldwell chuckled, but grabbed the back of Moira’s head and pulled her lips back to his.

“Well, I’m not stopping now.” Moira kissed him deeply, one hand reaching between them to guide him inside her. She set a slow pace, almost teasingly so.

“Well, you’re going-” Caldwell paused, letting out a hiss of pleasure and rewarding Moira’s efforts with a small bite on the collar- “Slow enough, aren’t you? Faster, please.”

“As you wish,” Moira purred, her pace growing harder, and picking up a bit of speed. Her teeth grazed along the shell of his ear, stopping to nibble at it in a few places. When she reached the lobe, she worried it between her teeth gently.

Caldwell’s hands both moved to Moira’s hips, helping guide the new pace, and holding her in place as he began to thrust into her, “Moira… you feel so good…”

He could feel the smile pull at her lips, as she released his ear and trailed open mouthed kissed down his neck, pausing to press her tongue to his pulse point. She began to ride him harder, her fingernails gently scratching at his shoulders as she met his upward thrusts, causing each to hit her deeper. “James...”

“Moira…” Caldwell’s hands gently trailed upwards, his fingertips brushing along her skin until they found her breasts, “Yes…”

“James… James…” Moira murmured his name like a chant, her head tipping back slightly to expose her neck for his mouth and teeth to take full advantage of.

“Moira…” Caldwell breathed, his voice hot against her skin, “I love you…”

The Banshee’s movements stopped cold. Sensing the sudden apprehension, Caldwell ceased his ministrations.

“Moira?”

Moira sat stone still for a moment before leaning back. “W-what? What did you... just say?”

“I…” Caldwell blinked, thinking back over the words that had tumbled out of his mouth. Part of him wanted to brush it off, claim it was a slip of the tongue, that he was tired from the battle… but the more he thought, the more he realized that it was true.

Pieces of a puzzle finally fell into place. His initial fascination with her, his sorrow in her absence, his comfort in her presence… even him calling her his wife to MacCready and his cohorts, that was his subconscious breaking through the dark to force him to face what he already knew, but simply refused to accept.

“I…” Caldwell swallowed, “I love you.”

Moira remained still, and there was a moment where neither of them were entirely sure she was still breathing. Her chest had gone tight, like it would collapse in on herself, and her mouth felt suddenly like sandpaper. Slowly, the Banshee rose to her feet, looking away and beginning to gather her clothes from the heap she’d dropped them into.

“Moira?” Caldwell rose from his seat, hastily pulling his pants back on, “Moira, talk to me.”

The Banshee remained silent, almost as if she hadn’t heard him as her shaking hands pulled the soaked and bloody fabric back over her body. She stared down at the floor, willing herself to have misheard, misunderstood.

“Moira,” Caldwell tentatively reached for the Banshee’s hand. As his fingers touched hers, she jerked away like he’d burned her. Wide, panicked eyes found his face.

“I have to go,” she murmured, shaking her head slightly and shrinking away from the Overboss.

“Moira,” Caldwell’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, “If you want time, take it. You want space, I’ll give you all the space you need. But please, come back to me when you’re ready to talk this out. I’m just as scared as you are.”

“No,” Moira pulled her hand away, taking a step back. “No, I can’t- I  _ can’t _ do this again. I was… I didn’t think. Fucking my boss,  _ again _ I mean… I should have… I need to go.”

Caldwell sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat, “Go, then. Take your time and think about it… and if you decide to leave me… I’ll abide.”

Moira continued to stare as she all but scrambled out of the room, slamming the door in her wake and leaning against the opposite side. She took a moment to allow her panic; her breath came short and fast, and her head spun. She should have seen something like this coming. Was he genuine? Or was it like Veronica again? Was he doing exactly what she had, exactly what Witch had warned against? Was he pulling her close so he could leash her? Moira held a hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds of her breathing, before rushing down the hall.

Either way, she needed to get away from him, to find her space and clear her head. She needed to think, to breathe, and she could do none of those things here.

* * *

It felt like  _ hours _ before Caldwell finally dragged himself back to his chambers in the Plaza, but in truth it had only been minutes since Moira had left him. His face was hard, and those who passed him by on his way fell silent and shrunk away. Locking the double doors behind him, the Overboss sat down at his new desk, putting his face in his hands.

Of all the moments for such a realization to occur, that was perhaps the  _ worst _ time and place. Mid-fuck? Really? Caldwell looked through the drawers of a former news anchor’s desk, finding a few dark bottles within the bottommost one. Most were dry and bare, save a half-empty bottle of bourbon, a half-empty bottle of scotch, and a full bottle of whiskey.

Setting all three on the table before him, Caldwell started with the scotch.

* * *

“I’m heading back to Nuka World. You’re in charge.”

Fontayne blinked in surprise at the Banshee, but nodded. “Yeah, I can handle things here.”

“Good.” Her expression betrayed nothing, her voice even less. “I should make sure the Red Rocket didn’t burn down without us.”

Fontayne smirked, and inclined his head. “You do you, Banshee. I’ll hold down the fort. Or, Plaza, as it is.”

“I appreciate it. You’ll be rewarded next I see you.” With that, the Banshee took her leave, gathering the rest of her things and heading out of the plaza and into the open air. She had a single-minded determination to find the monorail, return home, and curl up in a ball for at least a day.

“Well, look who it is,” Mags sneered as Moira passed by, “Been getting bathing tips from Nisha?”

“You could stand to take suggestions about your own hygiene,” Moira replied with a roll of her eyes. “You know that adding more perfume isn’t the same as actually taking a bath, right?”

“Better than what  _ you  _ seem to consider a bath,” Mags wrinkled her nose in disgust, “Give it five minutes, you’ll have more flies on you than a pack brahmin.”

“I don’t have time for this,” Moira sighed continuing to walk away.

“You know, you might finally smell wretched enough for Mason to want to fuck you,” Mags added, hoping to leave the Banshee with a final jab.

“Goodbye, Mags.”

* * *

As night fell over Nuka World, Scarlett decided to go for a walk around the market. Those strange sounds were haunting the castle halls once again, and she wanted nothing more than to be away from them, and to push Witch’s theory about their origins out of her head. After a half hour of idle browsing, the Queen of Hearts made her exit, stopping to look out the front gates of Nuka World.

_ "A vacation that refreshes, a trip you won’t forget! A park with every minimum acceptable safety standard met!" _

Squinting as she stared over the horizon, Scarlett could swear she saw a figure approaching. That was… odd. The scouts never said anything about traders on their way in… and this was only one person. Who could be travelling to Nuka World on their own at nightfall? As the figure neared, their beacon of white hair identified them. Scarlett smiled, rushing out to meet Moira. However, the closer she got, the colder the pit in her stomach grew.

“Moira?” Scarlett blinked and her steps slowed as she took in the Banshee’s state. The Banshee herself seemed clean, but her clothing was covered in bloodstains and dust, and she looked exhausted. Moira blinked at Scarlett, and then pulled the Queen of Hearts into a tight embrace.

Scarlett froze at first, caught completely off guard. However, after a moment, she returned the embrace, gently stroking Moira’s head, “Moira, what happened? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m just… I wanted to head home. I was worried about everything here.”

“Moira…” Scarlett took the Banshee’s face in her hands, searching her eyes carefully, “What happened?”

“I’ve been awake all night. I need to sleep.”

“When did you last sleep?” Scarlett noticed just how exhausted Moira seemed to be. Her eyes were red enough to infuriate a certain radio host into claiming something called ‘copyright infringement’ and threaten to ‘sue.’

“Yesterday afternoon,” the Banshee sighed. “We were cleaning out the rest of the plaza, taking care of the Gunner captains, and J- Caldwell...”

Moira trailed off, shaking her head. “I need to go find Witch.”

“You need to  _ sleep _ ,” Scarlett insisted, taking Moira by the hand and pulling her towards Nuka World, “Come with me. You can stay with me tonight, and we’ll send word to Witch as soon as possible. Okay?”

Moira looked as though she wanted to argue, but finally relented, allowing Scarlett to lead her off to Kiddie Kingdom. Her mind had run its course while she’d trekked back through the wasteland, not pausing for rest. Now she simply felt… hollow, and confused.

There was a part of her that regretted leaving, that wished she’d stayed and simply ignored his words, remaining safe and comfortable at the Overboss’s side. And then there was the part of her that wanted to keep fleeing, to gather her Harbingers, head west again and reclaim the territory that they had staked out for themselves before. But most of her was simply  _ tired _ , and could not continue warring amongst herself. And so she was more than happy to settle down into the bed Scarlett provided, and lose her twisting emotions to the relief of sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a wild ride, wasn't it? Wondering what happens next? Well, you're gonna have to wait for a little bit, because we're taking a well-earned break. We'll be back at it again (at Krispy Kreme) in a few days.


	37. Bad Luck & Hard Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon leads the away team back to the Castle to find a solution to the Kellogg situation. Meanwhile, Moira consults with Witch regarding Caldwell's bombshell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've been with us and recognize the chapter title... we realized it fit this one better than chapter 16, so we changed the names. Not like I didn't do it with chapter 5 already...
> 
> Chapter TW: Brief Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Black Stone Cherry.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN**

**BAD LUCK & HARD LOVE**

* * *

**April 13th, 2288.**

_ “Loving you… isn't the right thing to do… how can I ever change things that I feel?” _

Rhiannon tiredly swat at her Pip-Boy until she found the snooze button on the alarm. Six in the morning already? She felt as if she’d barely slept. Nonetheless, the General stretched and let out a yawn as she sat up from her spot on the floor of the Vault 95 Overseer’s office.

MacCready and Preston had slept even less, both meant to have been watching Nick through the night. When the Pip-Boy let loose a burst of Fleetwood Mac, they had both sat up from where they’d slumped against the wall. MacCready wiped a line of drool quickly from his chin, while Preston hopped to attention and made sure Valentine was still properly restrained.

“How do you feel this morning, Nick,” the Colonel asked warily.

“Like I’ve been warring with a damned madman in my head all night. Oh, wait...”

“Alright, I get it.” Preston gave the ropes another firm tug and then got back to his feet.

“Good mornin’ everyone!” Cait greeted everyone cheerily as she too stretched and got to her feet, “Ready to hit the-”

Cait blinked again, taking in the scene before her. Valentine was tied up in the center of the room. Simon’s sleeping bag was laid out over a mattress that had been dragged from downstairs, and the mechanic looked a little worse for wear.

“What the fuck happened last night? Is Simon okay? Why’s Nickie all tied up?”

“Uh…” The group all looked to one another.

“Let’s take a walk,” MacCready offered, scratching the back of his head. “I’ll fill you in.”

“Sure,” Cait narrowed her eyes at the occupants of the room but nonetheless followed the mercenary out.

“I’m going to take Nick outside,” Preston announced, gathering up his and Simon’s belongings. “And I’m gonna see if there’s something I can use to radio back to the Castle, let ‘em know we’re coming and we’ve got one injured.”

“Thanks, Preston,” Rhiannon nodded, “I’ll get Simon ready to go.”

With a salute, Preston pulled Nick to his feet, leading the repentant Synth out of their camp. Rhiannon stretched and gathered up her things, before moving to sit next to Simon, careful not to move the mattress. “How are you holding up?”

“Better,” Simon answered groggily, not even bothering to sit up, “But being shot twice in the chest fuckin’ hurts, even if I got stimpacks. Do you think there’s any Med-X around?”

“I think Preston brought some,” Rhiannon sighed, “But he took his pack out. We’ll get you some before we start to head back.”

“Not in front of Cait,” Simon shook his head, “She might relapse.”

“Okay,” Rhiannon promised. One hand rested on his forehead to check his temperature. The other, almost of its own volition, moved to take one of Simon’s hands. “We should take your shirt off- to- uhh… to check your wounds. Make sure nothing’s infected.”

“Okay,” Simon said, slowly propping himself up on his elbows, “Give me a hand, please. I’m a little scared to sit up.”

Rhiannon aided the mechanic, helping him up enough to unbutton his bloodstained shirt and check the bandages on his chest. Reaching into her supplies, Rhiannon pulled out her first aid kit and set about changing the bandages.

“I… was worried, seeing you go over the railing.”

“Thanks…” Simon winced as Rhiannon’s hand brushed too close to one of the bullet wounds, “I think I got lucky… I almost hit my head on the floor.”

“Well, Lily will be glad to have you back. But she’s probably going to flay us alive for letting you get hurt.”

“‘Us?’” Simon laughed, but let out a hiss of pain, “She’s never going to let me hear the end of it.”

“I... I meant ‘us’ like Preston, Cait, and Cready, and me,” Rhiannon stammered quickly.

“I know what you meant,” Simon set a hand over one of Rhiannon’s, “I certainly hope she doesn’t blame any of you, or Nick, for me getting myself shot. It’s Kellogg… fuckin’  _ Kellogg… _ ”

Rhiannon swallowed hard, staring at Simon’s hand on her’s. “Yeah… I… Simon, I didn’t actually want to talk about Kellogg last night.”

“Huh?” Simon raised an eyebrow, “So… what was on your mind? I mean, if you want to talk about it.”

“Uh...” Rhiannon suddenly wished she had kept her mouth shut, but it was now or never. “I already talked to Lilith, but she said I should talk to you, and I should, really, and I know the longer I put it off the worse it’s going to be when it finally comes out.”

“Oh… ‘kay…?” Simon blinked, not sure what Rhiannon was trying to say, “What… what is it?”

“You... remember when we kissed?” Rhiannon’s eyes remained fixed on where her fingers rested against his skin. “And neither of us...  _ felt _ anything?”

“Well…” Simon suddenly seemed nervous, his face turning red, “Well, I don’t… don’t think  _ neither _ of us felt anything…”

Rhiannon blinked. “Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Because  _ you _ didn’t feel anything,” Simon sighed, “I wasn’t going to try to push you into a relationship when you were dealing with…  _ everything  _ that was going on back then.”

“I… I think I was still in love with-” She paused- “With the memory of Vinny. But... I feel something now.”

“Oh… ” Simon’s eyes widened slightly, “…Oh. I… uhh…”

“I don’t expect anything,” Rhiannon added quickly. “But I can’t- I shouldn’t keep it to myself. And Lily said I should tell you.”

“Okay,” Simon took a deep breath, “I understand, and telling me was the right thing to do, and telling Lily was too. You’re not a bad person, Rhiannon. You’re literally one of the best people I’ve ever met.”

“But I shouldn’t-” Rhiannon sighed, finally pulling her hand away. “It’s not fair, to any of us.”

“Maybe,” Simon shrugged, “But… we can’t- and this is a  _ little  _ hypocritical coming from me- we can’t let the ‘what ifs’ run and ruin us.”

“Maybe so, but… I- I love you, and I can’t. And I just… wanted to apologize, I guess. For not realizing sooner.”

“Well… there’s no need to apologize for something you feel,” Simon reached over into the first aid kit to finish applying his new bandages, “And… we live dangerous lives in dangerous times. Anything can happen.”

A moment of unsure quiet settled over the pair of them.

Simon let out a little laugh that broke the silence, “Remember… when you showed up at the Red Rocket… and I was wearing my pants on backwards… and then Lily walks with her tits out and said you could join us…”

Rhiannon couldn’t help but let out a small laugh of her own. “Well,  _ you  _ can be the one to bring that idea to her.”

“Maybe when I have two less bullet wounds…  _ if _ I survive hurricane ‘I told you so.’” Simon chuckled. Rhiannon smiled and began to pack up her things again, ready to go join the others.

“Rhiannon?”

The General paused, mid-way through rolling up her sleeping bag.

“I don’t think it’s just  _ you  _ who’s in love with someone around here,” Simon said as he carefully got back to his feet. The sleeping bag unfurled.

“Wh- wait what? Who?”

“Haven’t you seen the way Preston looks at you?” The mechanic asked.

“Preston?” Rhiannon’s heart skipped as she looked towards the door. When it restarted, it was racing. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Simon nodded, “I mean… the two of you always had great chemistry. But… the way he looks at you when you aren’t paying attention… I’d swear he’s looking at a beautiful sunset or something. I doubt he’d admit it if I asked; you’re his General after all, but… he’s head over heels for you.”

Rhiannon considered this: all the moments Preston’s hands had lingered near hers, the way he had put himself in potential harm’s way last night just to keep her safe. All the times they’d brushed fingers, or found themselves closer together than expected, and the brief moment of something tangible and electric before one of them would smile and move away. Rhiannon was smiling before she realized she was doing so.

“And I don’t think he’s alone in that either.” Simon’s voice pulled her out of her reverie.

“I… hadn’t thought about it,” Rhiannon admitted. “And if… I should clear my head, and we should get going. We have a lot of ground to cover.”

“Yeah. We gotta get home.” Simon nodded, carefully carrying the sleeping bag he’d rolled up while she was daydreaming out the door.

* * *

“Look, all’s I’m sayings is that Friday the T’irteent’s unlucky,” Seamus shrugged, pulling his pipe away from his mouth to spit into an old beer bottle.

“Oh come on, really? At the dinner table?” Another Minuteman wrinkled her nose at the display.

“Friday the Thirteenth is a perfectly normal day,” Lily argued. “There’s nothing lucky or unlucky about a random, recurring date on the calendar. If it  _ was  _ unlucky, that’s probably when the bombs would have fallen. But they didn’t.”

“But lookit whatsappen’d t’day alone,” Seamus retorted, “T’main gen’rator blew out-”

“Because a molerat got into the wires  _ yesterday _ ,” Lilith countered, slipping Dogmeat some Cram under the table.

“An’ then t’water purifiers didn’t come back on fer another two hours,” The Harborman continued.

“But we had more than enough in the reserves,” Lily said, patting the German Shepherd as he rested a paw on her knee and whined for more.

“Thomas los’ ‘is voice,” Seamus kept going.

“Thomas has been coming down with laryngitis for a week. He didn’t listen to us about that cold he had.”

“Mirelurks popped outta a nest youse guys missed in t’basemen’ and ran amuck, during which Vasco’s musket jamm’d up and he got hisself snipped.”

“Alright, I’ll concede on that,” Lily admitted, dropping more food for Dogmeat. “That was bad luck.”

“I’s jus’ sayin’ that-”

“The General is back!” A Minuteman poked his head into the mess hall to announce their leader’s return. Dogmeat bolted out from under the table, leaving his latest treat on the floor.

“Bark! Bark!”

“A lil’ soon, innit?” Seamus raised an eyebrow as a few Minutemen rushed out to greet her.

“Yeah.” Lilith was on her feet in an instant, hurrying out after the others. “I hope everything’s okay.”

As she followed after Dogmeat, Lilith stepped outside to find most of the away party had returned clad in Power Armor, an extra suit obtained somewhere on the road. Her small smile faded the moment she saw that two of the armored individuals were holding people as they approached.

One held a struggling Nick Valentine, though the voice that was spewing a few curses was most decidedly not the detective’s. The other held Simon, and Lilith felt as though her heart had stopped. Dogmeat skidded to a halt and began to snarl at Valentine. His ears lay flat against his head and the fur along his spine stood on end.

“This is abso-fucking-lutely not necessary,” Simon complained, though he made no attempt to weasel out of the power armored arms of the individual who carried him.

“Yeah it is, it’s for your own good,” MacCready responded irritably as he turned so that he didn’t hit Simon’s head against the wall on their way in.

“What happened?” Lilith broke into a run, rushing to MacCready and Simon, and noticing the bullet holes in the mechanic’s shirt. “Oh my God, sugar, are you okay?!”

“No. I’m a ghost. Boo,” Simon deadpanned, “Of  _ course  _ I’m fine! I mean, except getting shot, but, hey, I’m alive.”

“How the fuck did you get shot?” Lilith demanded, taking his face in her hands. “What happened?!”

“Remember how we killed Kellogg?” Simon asked, “And then we plugged part of his brain into Nick to sift through his memories?”

“Get your fuckin’ hands off me, you damn dirty-” A stream of curses erupted from Valentine’s body as two of the individuals in power armor hauled him towards the basement.

“I’m guessing that killing him didn’t take?” Lily asked, looking over to watch them go.

“He’s in Nick’s head, and it’s bad,” Rhiannon’s voice came from the individual in power armor that remained, “I… I don’t know what to do. And then Simon got hurt, and we had to come back.”

“Are you  _ sure _ you’re okay?” Lily asked, more insistent as she turned back to Simon. “Not ‘alive,’ but okay?”

“He complained about his chest and his side a lot,” MacCready said before Simon could answer, “And he got winded a few times just walking. Hence the carrying.”

“The  _ totally unnecessary  _ carrying.” Simon glared over at the mercenary.

“We should get him to a cot,” Lily said, moving aside to let them through. “He needs to rest.”

“No, we’ll take him to my room,” Rhiannon shook her head, “He saved my life, the least I can do is let him use my bed while Doc Hickey looks him over… just don’t… do… ‘ _anything_ ’ in my bed?”

“No promises,” Lilith winked, then turned more stoic. “But in all seriousness, I… might have an idea about how we can help Nick. Let’s get Simon comfortable first.”

* * *

About an hour after Simon was checked up by the good doctor and comfortably situated in Rhiannon’s bed, everyone regrouped to plan their next steps. Nick was locked in the basement jail cell, to be guarded by a pair of Minutemen at all times. The War Room was once again filled with Rhiannon’s friends, though only Lily needed be told what had happened in the few days they were gone.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Lily said, setting a hand on MacCready’s arm as he wrapped up the account.

“Yup,” Simon gave a thumbs up from the bed, “Robbie and I are best friends now.”

“‘Robbie?’” Lilith raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“You mother- son of a-” MacCready sputtered as he struggled to not let loose a torrent of profanities.

“That’s what Caldwell called ‘im.” Cait shrugged.

“Caldwell?” Lilith turned to face the redhead. “The guy Cready and Nick were looking into?”

“The same,” Preston confirmed, “Dude’s  _ scary _ . His  _ wife’s _ scary.”

“His wife is  _ scarier _ ,” Simon agreed.

“Yeah?” Lily smirked. “They raiders like I said, or something worse? Ghouls? Vampires?”

“She  _ could _ be a vampire…” MacCready muttered.

“I don’t know,” Rhiannon frowned, “But something was definitely off about them. Nick said as much, but he started... glitching before we could really sit down and put our heads together about it.”

“Right. The glitch.” Lily ran a hand through her hair. “I think I have a solution. Or, more aptly, I think I know some people who can help us find a solution.”

“Really?” Rhiannon sat upright, “Who?”

“We’ll find ‘em if we follow the Freedom Trail,” Lily answered, shifting a little in her seat. Simon let out a series of coughs, and Lilith moved to his side, sitting beside him on the bed.

“The Freedom Trail?” Preston asked, “Do you mean…?”

“The Railroad,” Lily confirmed. “They know Synths and Institute tech better than anyone.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sakes…” Cait’s head fell back, “Those nutters?”

“Do you have a problem with saving brainwashed Synths?” Lily asked sharply.

“Not at all,” Cait frowned. “But there’s somethin’ dark about the Railroad… somethin’ I can’t put me finger on, and it don’t sit right with me.”

“Well, I’d have to disagree,” Lilith’s voice grew tense. “The Railroad does good work. Every Synth that wants a real chance of a life outside the Institute owes them everything. The ones that run away and try to hide on their own get caught, sooner or later. But the Railroad knows how to disable Institute trackers and actually  _ free _ them. Do you know how many Synths we’ve helped?”

Cait looked away, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

“‘We?’” Rhiannon asked, picking up on the slipped pronoun.

“Yeah, well…” Lily looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “After… you know, after my parents got dragged back, I… I went to the Railroad hoping that maybe they’d find their way back out. They did it once, I figured they could probably do it again. And I’d be there.”

Simon reached out and took Lily’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“We should head out tomorrow,” Preston spoke up to break the tension that began to settle in the room, “The sooner we get Nick back, the better.”

“Yeah.” Lily squeezed Simon’s hand in return. “I know a shortcut. It’s safer than following the Trail.”

“Do we have to wear blindfolds while you lead us there?” Rhiannon smirked.

“Not for the whole trip.”

* * *

**April 14th, 2288.**

When Moira woke, it was with aching limbs, but a comforting warmth at her back. Rolling over, she blinked several times as she found herself facing Scarlett, not Caldwell. It took Moira only a moment to recall that, in her exhaustion, the Queen of Hearts had given her a place to sleep the night before.

Scarlett still slept, curled up in a ball and nuzzling into her pillow. Moira moved slowly, silently, as she slipped out of bed and gathered her clothes. They looked as though they’d been washed, and the Banshee couldn’t help but smile. She dressed, and exited the room without a sound. As grateful as she was to Scarlett, she needed to find Witch and speak with him, immediately.

* * *

_ Thud, thud, thud! _

“Fuck off!” Caldwell cursed from his bed, throwing one of the empty bottles at the door.

“Overboss, it’s nearly noon,” Rotter’s gravely voice was faint, but recognizable, “People are getting anxious-”

“Five more minutes!” Caldwell angrily turned over. A few seconds later, the door pushed open, prompting the Overboss to turn back over at the Doomed who’d picked the lock, “What the fuck did I say?”

“Boss, permission to speak freely?” Rotter asked as he shoved the bobby pin and screwdriver he’d used moments ago back into a pouch on his belt. Caldwell grunted a reply, so Rotter took the cue to continue.

“Quit being a little bitch. You’re the Overboss, so fuckin’ act like it for long enough for us to start getting shit done around here.”

Caldwell growled and shot to his feet, only to fall back down onto the bed, “Alright, fine. Send Miasma in with a hangover remedy, and we’ll get to work.”

* * *

“Is he... on?” MacCready asked, crowding behind Preston and Lilith as they entered the room where Valentine was being held. The Synth was cuffed to one of the many pipes that ran along the walls of Fort Independence’s basement tunnels, his eyes dim and orange as he slowly lifted his head at the group that gawked at him.

“Yeah, he’s on,” Lilith said warily, stepping ahead of the party and giving Alice a twirl. The Synth’s eyes followed the wicked and very familiar shape of the baseball bat. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I could use a cigarette,” Kellogg chuckled, his voice sounding even rougher coming from Nick’s body, “Why don’t you come over here and give me a light?”

“Not a chance,” Preston scoffed, his laser musket held tightly in his hands, though he aimed it at the floor.

“So,” Lily continued, still swirling her bat in a lazy figure eight, “We beat your ass to hell and it didn’t take. Should we try it again?”

“If you wanna lose your friend forever, by all means, I can go for another round,” Kellogg snarled, “Are you gonna make it a fair fight, or leave me tied up like a coward?”

“You’re one to talk,” Preston snapped. “You shot a man while he held his baby.”

“Where is everyone’s favourite widow, by the way?” Kellogg narrowed his eyes at the three- plus two Minutemen guards- before him, “Busy crying into the arms of your grease monkey? Doing… other things in the arms of said punk-ass bitch?”

Preston and Lilith both visibly prickled, and the mercenary swung her bat, stopping just shy of his temple. Kellogg merely laughed at the display.

“I think you need to shut the fuck up, Kellogg,” she said, her voice dangerously low.

“Anything you do to me, you’ll be doing to Nick. You can’t fucking touch me, and we all know it.”

The trio and the guards exchanged hesitant expressions. He was right, though none of them liked to admit it.

“Maybe we can’t,” Lily continued, shouldering Alice, “But we’re taking you to someone who can. We’re gonna rip you out of Nick’s head and send you back to hell.”

“And I’ll take every bit of him I can with me,” Kellogg retorted, “Nick and I… we’ve gotten pretty close over the past few months. If I get evicted from our little two bedroom, I may just have to take all the furniture I can on the way out. Unless…”

“Unless?” The three chorused.

“You find me a new host to plug my brain into.”

“And where the hell do you expect us to find you an empty Synth?” MacCready scoffed.

“Those Railroad crazies like to play with the Institute’s toys. And sometimes they break them,” Kellogg’s gaze turned to the rifleman, “Just find me a vegetable and bring me back to that Dr. Amari bitch so she can make the swap. I get a new body, you get your ugly-ass ‘friend’ back, and then we all walk away happy.”

“Bold of you to assume we’ll let you walk away,” Lily muttered.

“You will if you want him back.”

“Can we have a chat with Valentine before we go?” Preston spoke up.

After a moment of spasming, the orange eyes brightened to their standard yellow. “Whew. Yikes. You know, I really don’t like that guy taking the driver’s seat from me.”

“That makes literally all of us,” MacCready replied, now stepping fully into the room.

“So, what’s the deal, Valentine?” Preston demanded, cranking his musket. “This has been happening for months and you haven’t said a word?”

“I thought I could use him,” Nick admitted, shoulders slumping. “Thought tapping into his knowledge might help us find some answers, but, uh... looks like I was just digging myself a hole.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” MacCready snarked again.

“Nice knowing that even when I’m fighting for control of my body against a dangerous psychopath you keep your sense of humor,” Nick shot back.

“Alright, chill,” Lily sighed. “Nick, do you think Kellogg could make good on those threats? Could he really fuck you up if we just, you know... uninstall him?”

“Well, he’s been in here for-r-r-r-r-r-r-” Nick’s sentence came to an abrupt halt, eyes flashing back and forth between yellow and orange before Kellogg’s voice once again crawled out of Valentine’s body.

“Time’s up.”

“Fucking asshole,” Lily grumbled. She glanced over her shoulder and gestured for the guards. “Alright, let’s get a move on.”

The two Minutemen guards shrugged and slowly crept towards the decayed Synth. One raised his musket, cranking it thrice before aiming it at Kellogg. The other pulled a set of keys from his belt.

“No sudden moves,  _ Synth _ .” He growled as he reached to uncuff Valentine’s arm from the pipe.

“So I shouldn’t do this?” Kellogg asked, as his hand, already free, snapped outwards, grabbing the Minuteman by the neck and dragging him between himself and the laser musket.

“No, wait-” The Minuteman attempted to warn his companion, but the laser musket fired nonetheless, cutting a hole into the hostage’s chest. In the same moment, Kellogg pulled the pipe pistol from the dead man’s hip, firing a shot into the other guard’s neck.

_ Whumph! _

Kellogg-Valentine slammed into the ground as Alice smacked into his chest. Lilith stomped onto his wrist. Nick’s voice cried out as she did, but the gun was released, and she kicked it away. Preston and MacCready rushed forward, the Rifleman sticking his gun in the Synth’s face. Valentine stared down the barrel of the gun as his eyes flickered back and forth between yellow and orange, before finally settling on the latter.

“Go ahead. Make my day.” Kellogg taunted.

“Don’t think I won’t,” Preston growled, his voice angier than either hired gun had heard it before.

“It’s time to go,” Lilith insisted, grabbing the cuffs that lay on the ground. “And I’ll tell you what, Kellogg.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you what,” she repeated, as the men aided her in cuffing his hands behind his back, “You play nice and don’t make trouble for us while we head to the Railroad, and I promise to get you that body.”

“Now we’re talking.” Kellogg grinned wickedly.

* * *

“So, if we just scrounge together some more lumber, maybe some pipes, we should have the rest of the cots set up by the end of tomorrow,” Witch explained to the few Harbingers that crowded into the Banshee’s room around her desk. “And then we can worry about getting the planters set up. But with places to sleep, the Rocket will be liveable. So hop to it.”

The small crowd dispersed quickly, and Witch leaned back in the chair to rub at his eyes. Since coming down from his high the other day, the feather-clad Harbinger had been desperately trying to make sense of any of the visions that he could still recall. Not many pieces had stood out once his mind had come back to him. Irritatingly, the one he kept coming back to was Goliath’s death. There was  _ something _ he had been worried about. Something about his eye-

The window creaked open and Witch abandoned his thoughts, jumping to his feet and aiming his pistol. Moira and Witch blinked at one another as she crawled inside.

“Am I not allowed into my own room now?”

“You’re… home early,” Witch replied lamely, lowering the gun. Moira shut the window behind her before sitting on the edge of the bed. “How did it go?”

“Well. The… infiltration went well.” Moira nodded, as Witch took a seat beside her. The man knew her too well, and set a hand on her knee.

“What didn’t go so well, then?”

“Caldwell found Deckard.”

“Holy  _ shit _ .”

“I made him suffer, made him pay for what he did. And that was all fine. And then, well… Caldwell and I were enjoying some privacy… and…”

“Jesus, what did he do now?”

Moira felt her stomach clench. “He told me that he loves me.”

“What?”

“I’m not saying it twice.”

Witch ran a hand through his hair. Well, fuck.

“Well, fuck. What did you do?”

“I panicked, and I left.”

“You panicked?” Witch quirked his head to the side. “Why? Your original scheme, though I’ve had my doubts about how much it’s stayed in sight, was to use Caldwell’s desires against him. You wanted to use it to manipulate him, so, if he’s in love with you... haven’t you won?”

“Perhaps. And perhaps that’s why it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“It should sit fine with you. You could have him eating out of the palm of your hand. Unless...” Witch paused, searching her profile. “Unless you’re in a position of vulnerability too. Unless you stopped manipulating him at some point…”

“I think we all know it stopped being about playing with power fairly early on.”

“Then…” Witch braced himself for whatever possible reaction the Banshee might have to his next words, “You love him, too.”

“Maybe,” Moira admitted, shaking her head. “Maybe. But after Veronica I’m not going to just rush into something that could fuck us over again.”

“Maybe we should talk with Gage,” Witch suggested, relieved that she hadn’t snapped at him. “He knows Caldwell better than anyone else in the park. He’ll have some insight.”

“Even with just the one eye?” Moira forced a smirk.

* * *

“I wish I could go with you,” Simon frowned from Rhiannon’s bed as Lilith checked his bandages, “I hate to just be lying around while you go with a dangerous madman in Nick’s body to some secret-”

Lilith hushed him with a kiss. “You won’t even have time to miss us, I promise.”

“Too late,” Simon smirked, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sugar,” Lily said, kissing him once more.

“Go on then,” Simon settled back into the mattress, “Go kick some ass.”

With a last kiss, Lilith hurried out to the courtyard to join the rest of the gang that would be escorting Kellogg to the Railroad.

“He still with us?” MacCready asked as Lily approached.

“Yeah, he’s looking better, actually,” she replied, smiling. “Let’s hurry, though.”

“Are these really necessary?” Kellogg asked, looking between Rhiannon and Preston, lightly shaking the chains that held his hands behind his back.

“Yes,” both Minutemen answered as one. Dogmeat snarled in agreement, snapping at the Synth’s ankles before ducking behind Rhiannon’s legs.

“We’ll  _ think  _ about letting you out once we’re in the city,” MacCready warned, “But we’ll have guns on you the whole time.”

“Yeah, because that worked out  _ so well  _ for the last guy who had a gun on me.” Kellogg smirked, cruel and smug.

The group exchanged irritated looks, already anticipating an extremely long journey.

* * *

“Wow. The twist that abso-fuckin-lutely no one saw coming,” Gage deadpanned from his seat on one of Caldwell’s couches, “I might have a heart attack from the shock.”

“I’m not going to be puppetted around,” Moira insisted glaring across at the Overboss’s second. “So if you think he’s serious, then say as much.”

“He is serious,” Goliath rumbled from his spot against the wall, “Caldwell feels deeply for you, fair lady. He, like you, has spent much time repressing and denying the feeling.”

“I… wouldn’t put it like that, but yeah,” Gage confirmed, “It’s pretty obvious there’s something there. Remember that month where he was all depressed because you weren’t hanging around?”

“Mmm.” Moira folded her arms and looked out the windows of the Grille.

“Fair lady, are you afraid?” Goliath asked.

“I’m wary,” Moira replied.

“So is Caldwell,” Goliath continued, “He watched his last love die. He is afraid that he will have to do so again. And you are afraid. You are afraid you will have to kill him too.”

“Not afraid,” Moira fixed Goliath with her glare. “But concerned, yes. I will not be used like that again.”

“If Caldwell was using you, he wouldn’t’ve dropped the ‘L’ word,” Gage interjected, “And from the way you were telling the story, he freaked right out. If he was using you, he’d’ve played it cool.”

“So what do you suggest as the next course of action?” Witch chimed in. He quickly held up a finger to the Super Mutant. “Not you. Gage.”

Gage leaned back in his seat for a second. Reaching for a bottle of beer, the raider cracked it open and took a long sip, “Do you love ‘im?”

“Maybe?” Moira sighed. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“Oh, fuck right off with that!” Gage snapped, throwing the bottle to the floor, “Don’t you tell me you haven’t thought about it! You’ve been sharing his bed for months and you mean to tell me not  _ once _ did you think to yourself ‘Wow, this feels really nice?’ Are you kidding me?”

“Enjoying someone’s company doesn’t equate to love,” Moira shot back. “Fucking someone does not equate to love!”

“It’s been good enough for your boy and I,” Gage retorted, “No offense, Witch.”

“None taken,” Witch replied, the corner of his mouth turning upwards.

“Look, let’s say I do feel the same. It’s not as simple as it is for you and Witch,” Moira sighed. “He’s the Overboss. He has a position of authority over me. Even if he waives it while we’re screwing, that doesn’t change the fact that I answer to him outside of the bedroom. And if our relationship goes beyond the bedroom, it infringes on the territory in which I answer to him.”

“Lemme remind you,  _ he  _ confessed first,” Gage leaned forward, “James Caldwell Jr., the great and powerful Overboss stepped down from his high horse and told a woman he very obviously respects and adores that he loves her. You wanna talk power, he pretty much gave it up right there!”

“Not entirely true,” Moira murmured, rolling her shoulders as her memory conjured a vivid, visceral memory of Veronica purring those same three words into her ear, time and again.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever you wanna think,” Gage threw up his hands, “But Caldwell’s got some serious issues thanks to that Sarah woman he talks about when he’s drunk, so if he got past them enough to give love another shot… you must really mean somethin’ to him.”

The Banshee fell silent, turning her gaze away again. Witch looked to Gage and shrugged helplessly. Then, reluctantly, the Harbinger looked to Goliath.

“What does your heart say, fair lady?”

“It says that I need to go for a walk.” Moira stood, not looking at either of the others as she took her leave of the Grille.

“Thanks,” Witch sighed as she left and took a seat on the couch. “She’s… I mean she’s Moira, and she’s stubborn, but it helped her.”

“Sure hope it did,” Gage slumped back into his seat, “I ain’t good at speeches and romance. And  _ apparently _ Goliath’s a fuckin’ sap.”

“Apparently.” The Harbinger wrapped an arm around Gage’s shoulders. “How come you don’t have a girlfriend, Goliath?”

“Super Mutants do not have genitalia.” Goliath answered.

“You don’t really need it,” Witch replied with a smirk. “Besides, like our fair lady said, fucking doesn’t equate to love.”

“Find me someone who can match my wit, and we’ll see,” Goliath retorted, lumbering towards the exit, “And do not fuck on Caldwell’s furniture.”

* * *

The trek was lead by Lilith and Cait, with MacCready marching Kellogg along in the middle, while Preston and Rhiannon followed behind, their guns aimed towards the Synth. Dogmeat trotted alongside Rhiannon, though he frequently wandered off after a smell, or to dig through a heap of trash.

Rhiannon, despite her tension having Kellogg walking with them, even in Nick’s body, found her gaze shifting to Preston every few minutes. Simon’s suggestion that the Colonel harbored feelings for her had been whispering at the back of her mind for awhile now. She hated that she felt like she was back in high school again, wondering if a guy was being friendly, or if he  _ like _ liked her. And was she really so ready to let go of the feelings she had for Simon? Or were they existing concurrently?

Preston was handsome.  _ Very _ handsome, in fact. And he’d been nothing but compassionate, gentle, and protective since they’d met. He worked hard, and always for the greater good. And he inspired Rhiannon to seek that same kindness in herself, even though so much of the Wasteland seemed to demand callousness, violence. He made her want to be better than she was, and reminded her how good she already was. He-

Her thoughts were interrupted as Kellogg began to whistle, loudly and obnoxiously.

“ _ He’s hackin’ and whackin’ and _ \- FUCK!” Cait snapped, barely restraining herself from turning around to blast the Synth’s head off with her shotgun.

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” MacCready rolled his eyes.

“Well, it’s fucking working,” Cait snarled, glaring back at Kellogg, who continued to whistle. The Synth even had the gall to  _ wink  _ at her as his rendition of ‘Butcher Pete’ played on.

“Rhiannon, could you turn on the radio to shut him up?” Lily sighed.

“Actually, we’re nearing Super Mutant territory. So knock it off, asshole,” Rhiannon prodded Kellogg in the back with her gun. The Synth gave a final trill, then let his whistling die down.

“I hope this Railroad really can help us,” Preston grimaced over at Rhiannon, “I don’t want to think about what it’s like for Nick when  _ that _ bastard’s in control.”

“I’d definitely rather not think about it,” Rhiannon agreed quickly. An involuntary shudder went up her spine. “But I trust Lily. I’m sure the Railroad will be happy to help.”

Preston nodded back, a comfortable silence settling between them as the group followed Lily’s lead. Their pace slowed, MacCready switching places with Cait so he could keep an eye out for any Super Mutants, or their hounds.

Once they’d made it past the crumbling towers where the mutants lurked, the group gradually resumed their former, steadier pace. Breathing a sigh of relief, Rhiannon offered Preston a smile, only to find he’d drawn much closer to her during their crossing.

“Getting cozy?” Rhiannon teased, despite the heat she could feel rising in her cheeks.

“Oh, I…” Preston stammered, hesitating for a moment, not sure whether he should stay or move away, “I… thought we should stick close with… the Super Mutants…”

“I mean, if you need me to keep you safe, you can just say so.” Rhiannon’s comment drew a small snicker from Cait up ahead.

“No- I… I mean, no, I’m fine, General.” Preston managed to recover, “I was more concerned for you.”

“Excuses, excuses,” the General continued to tease, as she gently bumped Preston’s elbow with her own.

“So are you two gonna be sappy little schoolchildren, or are you gonna-a-a-a-a-” Kellogg’s snide comment was cut short as Nick wrestled control back.

“Whew,” Nick sighed, “Good to see I’m not dead yet.”

“Nope, but we’re coming up on the Freedom Trail,” Lily called back. She was pointing ahead to a red line of bricks that followed the curve of the sidewalks. “Not long now.”

“Maybe we should cover my eyes, so Kellogg can’t rely on my senses on the way to your little hideout.” Valentine suggested.

“Well, we’re all about to be blindfolded until we get inside,” Lily replied, slowing to a halt and pulling some cloth from her bag. “I told you we were taking a short cut.”

“So…” Preston blinked, “So we’re all blindfolded, and you’re going to lead all of us?”

“Yeah?” Lily gave him a curious look as she blindfolded Nick first, while he still had control, then Cait. “I mean, we’ll all have to hold hands.”

“I… if you think that’s the-”

“Jeez, Preston,” MacCready glanced back at the Minuteman before Lilith tied a blindfold over his eyes, “No need to make this weird.”

“I’m-” Preston’s words died as Rhiannon took him by the hand, and then took Valentine by the elbow.

“Alrighty!” Once they were all blindfolded and in a chain, Lily looped her arm with MacCready. “Only another few minutes. I’ll tell you if you’re about to trip.”

* * *

“Uncle Allison?” Scarlett called as she slowly crept through the castle, the ghostly moaning echoing through the halls, “It’s time for dinner…”

There was no reply from the former chem cook, even as Scarlett gently knocked on the door to his room.

“Uncle Allison?” She repeated, knocking a few more times. Hearing no response, Scarlett pressed her ear to the door. The moaning was much louder from within, and she was certain she could hear her uncle’s voice, though she was unsure what he was saying. The ghosts were attacking him!

Leaping into action, Scarlett threw open the door, but came to as sharp a halt as she started, her mouth dropping open at the scene before her. Witch was right. She _hated_ that Witch was right.

Her uncle was completely nude, kneeling on the bed while Stitches- also unclothed- was on his lap, her legs wound with his as she was clearly grinding her hips down on his. Brownstone kissed the Harbinger’s neck gently, eliciting the exact moans that had haunted the castle for weeks.

“Fuck, Allison,” Stitches moaned, her head tipping back, eyes shut as she enjoyed his ministrations and the way he thrusted into her.

“Stitch-” Brownstone’s breath suddenly vacated his lungs as he opened his eyes and noticed the open door and the woman before it. Immediately, his movements came to a sharp halt, “Uhhh… Scarlett. Hey.”

Stitches blinked a few times, looking over at the door. “Oh. Hello.”

“I… I…” The color visibly drained from the Queen of Heart’s face before she came back to her senses and covered her eyes, “Oh my God. Oh my  _ God _ , Uncle Allison, what the  _ fuck _ ?!”

“Listen. I am a grown-ass man-”

“No, you didn’t tell me?! What the fuck! You had me thinking this fucking castle was  _ haunted _ !” Scarlett cursed him out despite not even facing him.

“You thought the castle was...  _ haunted _ ,” Stitches deadpanned.

“I… may have… suggested… that… the castle was…” Brownstone scratched the back of his neck.

“Jesus, you’re both morons,” Stitches sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Excuse you, a moron whose name you were screaming moments ago.”

“Good dick doesn’t make you smart.”

“I cannot  _ fucking _ believe you,” Scarlett finally turned back around to shout at her uncle to his face, “Seriously, what the fuck?! I would’ve understood if you told me!”

“... You’re not  _ jealous _ , are you?” Stitches asked, her nose wrinkling in sudden disgust.

“No, Jesus Christ, of  _ course  _ not!!” Scarlett was taken aback, “I just  _ thought _ he trusted me.”

“I…” Brownstone stammered, “I didn’t know it was such a big deal. It’s not even a big deal between us.”

“You don’t talk to your uncle about every person  _ you _ fuck, do you?” Stitches asked.

“Not  _ every  _ one,” Scarlett tilted her head up defiantly, “Just the ones I thought meant something.”

“Well, there you have it, then,” the Harbinger replied.

“I’m… going to dinner.” Scarlett finally turned on her heel, “Come if you want. Or don’t.”

The pair watched her leave before looking back at one another.

“Well, I’ll let you sort this out,” the medic said, getting to her feet. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Brownstone nodded, hastily dressing himself, “Yeah, same time tomorrow.”

* * *

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?!” Cait snapped as the stone wall slowly moved away, “The password into the ‘super secret’ Railroad base is literally  _ ‘Railroad _ ?’”

“Hide in plain sight,” Lilith shrugged as the door opened for them. “It’s so obvious, no one would ever guess it.”

“I…” MacCready attempted to protest but swallowed his response, “Let’s just move on.”

“It’s real dark up ahead,” Rhiannon peered into the passage before them, “Stick close.”

Preston’s arm brushed against hers as they crowded together, Lily walking boldly ahead with Dogmeat at her side, his tail wagging happily as they moved forward, as if he didn’t sense the tension.

Suddenly, the tunnel was flooded with a blinding light, the party shielding their eyes.

“Stop. Right. There.”

Once they all adjusted to the sudden brightness, the group beheld three figures. On their left, a dark-skinned woman with white hair, a minigun in her grip. On the right, a man in a blue jacket with a hat very similar to Simon’s held a pipe pistol at the ready. In the middle, a woman in fatigues stood, smoking a cigarette.

“Relax, Dezzie,” Lily called out, lowering her hand. “It’s me and my friends. Y’all are so jumpy.”

“I wonder why.” Desdemona rolled her eyes, “Charmer, you disappear for months and show up with four strangers on our doorstep, one of which sounds suspiciously like a certain Institute agent. What do you have to say for yourself?!”

“I didn’t disappear,” Lily scoffed. “Just because y’all couldn’t find me didn’t mean I was hiding. And yeah, the Synth’s been... compromised. But he’s not reporting. We’re just here looking for some help.”

“‘Some help,’” Desdemona repeated back. Behind her, a figure, somehow familiar to each of the strangers, approached, his sunglasses glinting against the lights. He and Lilith acknowledged one another with a small nod.

“I’m-,” Rhiannon took a half step forward, silenced by the whirr of the white-haired woman’s minigun, “Oh… ‘kay. Never mind.”

“Deacon!” Desdemona turned as Deacon fell into place beside her, “Where have you been?”

“You’re having a party, and didn’t invite me?” Deacon asked in mock offense.

“I need intel. Who are they?”

“News flash, Dez, these guys are a big deal,” Deacon gestured out to the group. “There in the fancy blue coat is one Rhiannon Kennedy, General of the Minuteman, and the sole survivor of Vault 111… well, the one that  _ isn’t _ an enormous piece of shit. Next to her’s Preston Garvey, the guy who got her the gig in the first place. You, of course, know Charmy and her on-and-off boy toy MacCready. Then there’s Cait, who used to beat people to death in the Combat Zone for money. And lastly, Nick Valentine, except he’s got Kellogg in his head too, which is why they’re here.”

“Bark!”

“And that’s Dogmeat, the best boy in the Commonwealth.” Deacon finished. The German Shepherd wagged his tail harder as he sniffed the air, “Fixer and I were just talking about them actually; he meant to give you the heads up, but Tinker Tom hijacked him on the way, and then-”

“The mysterious Fixer is here?” Lily grinned. “About damn time I get to meet him face to face.”

“From the sounds of it, you’re  _ well  _ acquainted.” Deacon waggled his eyebrows as another figure stepped out of the shadows, taking a place between Desdemona and the white-haired woman. The group recognized him instantly, and the smile dropped off Lily’s face.

Rhiannon was the first to find her voice.

“Simon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M. Night Shamalan voice: "What a twist!"
> 
> Did any of you see that coming?
> 
> Rhiannon's alarm clock at the top of the chapter was "Go Your Own Way" by Fleetwood Mac


	38. All Secrets Known

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In light of Simon's shocking reveal as a Railroad agent, Lilith re-evaluates her romance with the mechanic. Rhiannon and Desdemona discuss what to do about Kellogg being in Valentine's body, and a plan is formed. Meanwhile, the raiders of Nuka World tighten their grip on their new territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter TW: Explicit Sexual Content
> 
> This chapter's title has been brought to you by Alice In Chains.

* * *

**CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT**

**ALL SECRETS KNOWN**

* * *

**April 14th, 2288.**

“Simon?”

The group stared in shock at the mechanic. Lily’s bat clattered to the floor. As the others gaped and searched for words, Dogmeat merely headed up to him and gave his hand a pleased lick.

“Hey, buddy,” Simon reached down to ruffle the fur on Dogmeat’s head, “Dez, it’s okay. We can trust them… well, not the fucker in Valentine’s head, but they’re here so we can help get him out.”

“You lied to me,” Lily’s voice broke, as she spoke before Desdemona could respond.

A deep regret settled into Simon’s eyes as he looked at the woman who’d spoken, “I did, and I’m sorry. I was ordered-”

“You _lied_ to my _fucking face_ !” Lilith shouted, taking a step forward. “I _asked_ you if you were Railroad and you lied to me!”

“Fixer was under strict orders not to engage with any Railroad personnel outside of Deacon,” Desdemona fixed Lilith with a stern glare, “You can discuss personal issues later and privately. Right now we’re dealing with the guests you’ve brought.”

Without a word, Lilith snatched up her bat from the floor and moved to sulk in the corner of the chamber, one arm wrapped around herself.

“So. ‘General Kennedy.’” Desdemona narrowed her eyes at Rhiannon, “Why exactly do you want to meet with us? Is it just for your friend’s sake, or is there more you aren’t telling us?”

Rhiannon felt her chest tighten. These were strangers, but they knew more about the Institute than anyone, and Simon and Lilith were both among their number. Besides, something told the General that no information she could impart would stay hidden if this woman truly wanted to know it.

“My son,” She finally let the words tumble from her mouth, “The Institute took my son.”

“My God…” Desdemona breathed, glancing over at Simon, who nodded back. “If we’re going to be working together, we need to be on the same page. Everyone here knows what a Synth is, right?”

A chorus of affirmation swept through the room.

“The Institute treats Synths as property, as tools. So we seek the chance to free Synths from their bondage. To give them a chance at a normal life.” Desdemona continued, her gaze settling on Rhiannon once again, “I have a question. The only question that matters. Would you risk your life for your fellow man, even if that man is a Synth?”

“Yes,” Rhiannon answered. “That’s why we risked our necks to bring Nick here.”

Desdemona’s lips curled upwards as she went down the line to each individual guest.

“Of course,” Preston nodded, “Freeing Synths is a noble goal.”

“Sure,” MacCready shrugged after a moment’s thought, “I’ve been shot at for worse.”

“It depends on-”

“There’s _no_ middle ground on this,” Desdemona’s eyes hardened as she glared at Cait, “Would you risk your life or not?”

Cait hesitated, “Yes.”

“We’re the only ones brave enough- or stupid enough- to fight the Institute, and we could always use more brothers-in-arms.” Desdemona explained, “Unfortunately, we don’t have the time to train up new agents. There are, however, valuable ways for you to contribute. If you’re interested, talk with Deacon. For now, let’s focus on helping your Synth friend here. Come this way when you’re ready.”

Finally, the white-haired woman stowed her minigun and the man in blue holstered his pipe pistol. Both Railroad agents filed out of the passage, Desdemona following behind. Simon, waiting a moment for them to leave, gingerly walked over to where Lily stood.

“Lily, I-”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Lily, _please_ ,” Simon begged, “You have no idea how badly I wanted to tell you, but-”

“Then you should have told me!” Lily snapped. “We were alone, Simon! There was no one around but me! I would have understood. I would have kept it secret!”

“Actually, if memory serves, you were in the Dugout, and that place isn’t exactly the best for secret conversations,” Deacon added his two cents from where he leaned against the wall by the steps.

“What else have you lied about?” Lily continued, ignoring Deacon. “How much of what you told me has been bullshit? All of it?”

“No.” Simon’s eyes began to mist over, “I meant _everything_ I said when we were together… I _love_ you. Dez and Carrington-”

“Fucking _Carrington_ knew?” Lilith’s eyes widened, her hand tightening on the handle of Alice. “Great, awesome, spectacular. Everyone but me, I guess.”

“No. Dez, Carrington, P.A.M., Deacon, and Me.” Simon listed off on his fingers, “Not even _Percy_ knew.”

“Well, I’m glad your robot and I are on the same level when it comes to sharing information.” Lily turned to follow the others. They had quickly left the room to give the argument some privacy.

“Lily, I’m sorry, Carrington made it clear I couldn’t tell _anyone_ , that it was a security risk if _anyone_ knew why I was keeping eyes on the Vault!”

Lily paused, glancing over her shoulder. “Well, I’m sorry for being such a liability.”

Simon watched, tears falling down his cheeks as Lily disappeared around the corner. A moment later, Deacon set his hand on the mechanic’s back.

“So… uhh… you wanna talk, buddy?”

“I think I need to be alone right now, Deacon.” Simon wiped his eyes with his forearm, “Can you help me to a bed?”

“No problem, Lopez.”

* * *

“Report.” Caldwell called from his desk to the four gang leaders lined up before him, “How goes the takeover of your new territory?”

“The Marina has proven useful,” Ivey started, “The boathouse now serves as a workshop for our automatron soldiers and robot armor.”

“Any complaints or concerns?” Caldwell asked the woman in power armor.

“None worth mentioning.”

“Fine,” Caldwell’s gaze turned to Nisha.

“Clearing Somerville Place was almost disappointingly easy,” the masked woman replied coolly. “But it will be an excellent base.”

“Any concerns?”

“The… previous occupants left a little farm,” Nisha shrugged, “We could use some laborers to work it for us.”

“Ivey, whip up some simple bots to work this farm. You’ll be compensated.” Caldwell turned back towards the Rust Devil, who gave a sharp nod. Caldwell’s attention turned to Mason next.

“Jamaica Plain is good enough for us, but there’s a water shortage.” Mason said, his arms crossed in front of him, “My gang barely has enough to bathe, let alone drink.”

“Wait, you bathe?” Nisha turned over to Mason.

“We’ll send in some workers to put in some water pumps,” Caldwell spoke before an argument could break out, “Anything else?”

“We could use more beast cages.”

“Fine. The slaves will construct a few cages as well.” The Overboss turned to the final attendee.

“Murkwater… is not suitable for the Operators,” Mags attempted to hold her head high despite the lingering memory of what stuck her in that bog in the first place, “But we’re trying to make due. We require additional laborers to build our shelter… a few sank into the swamp, and now the rest of them have been refusing to work, even after torture.”

“Have someone make a blueprint of your plan, and I’ll send what we can spare.” Caldwell responded, “Go, now.”

The four bosses departed from the room, leaving Caldwell alone. Reaching into the desk, he retrieved a dark bottle and a glass, pouring the contents until it was full.

Caldwell replayed the memory of the day before in his head over, and over, and over as he knocked back his liquor. The way Moira had kissed him when he revealed Deckard to her. The way she was paralyzed when the words tumbled out of his mouth. The fear in her eyes.

“I shouldn’t said it,” Caldwell muttered to himself as he filled his cup, “Should’ve lied.”

Should he have? Would it have made a difference? Would she still be with him if he’d called it a slip of the tongue? Or would she have left him in anger for trying to cover the truth? Would it matter if he claimed he hadn’t meant it, or would the fact that it was said at all have been enough to drive her away? Would she come back?

“Stupid bastard,” Caldwell cursed himself as he drained and filled the glass yet again, “You’re acting like James again.”

She wasn’t coming back.

* * *

“You’re the first outsiders to step foot in our HQ,” Desdemona said as she leaned against a circular table, a lit cigarette between her fingers, “We’re taking a huge risk letting you come into our home. Don’t betray our trust.”

“We won’t,” Rhiannon assured her. “It means everything to us that you’re willing to help Nick.”

“Nick has helped my people more than once, whether he knew it or not,” Desdemona pulled the cigarette to her lips briefly, “And his continued presence in Diamond City proves that Synths can accomplish great things if given the chance to live free, and that not all Synths are the boogeymen that people make them out to be… it’s the Institute.”

“So with a dangerous psychopath who works for the Institute trapping Nick in his own body…” Rhiannon sighed. “Then the sooner we give Kellogg the boot, the better for all of us.”

“Exactly,” Dez punctuated her statement by tapping her cigarette with a finger, “I trust you’re familiar with Dr. Amari?”

“We’ve met,” Rhiannon replied.

“Dr. Amari plays a vital role in our organization,” The Railroad leader took another drag, “Freed Synths go to the Memory Den, where Amari gives them a set of new memories before they head out.”

“New memories?” Rhiannon looked puzzled. “Why? Don’t they want to know where they came from so they can appreciate where they go?”

“Some do, so they can forget the trauma. But, some don’t,” Desdemona responded, nodding her head towards the dark-skinned woman in white, chatting with Deacon, “Some, like Glory, want to keep their memories and join us to free their brothers and sisters from the Institute. Some opt out because they’re more afraid of the risks than they are of their past.”

“The risks,” Rhiannon echoed, remembering the demands Lily had passed along from Kellogg.

“Sometimes… these operations don’t go well, and leave the Synth catatonic and unresponsive,” Desdemona lowered her eyes a little, “It happens more often than any of us would like.”

“Do you think Amari can take one of the incapacitated Synths and insert Kellogg’s memories into them?”

“If anyone could, it would be Dr. Amari.” Dez shrugged, “I’ll let Caretaker know you’ll be taking a look at them.”

“Thank you, Dez.” Rhiannon smiled. “This really does mean a lot.”

“Just remember who did you this favor,” Desdemona said, an edge creeping into her voice as her cigarette’s smoke curled around her face. Rhiannon blinked, but the Railroad’s leader had walked away before the General could find her voice.

“Wow,” Cait said under her breath as she found a place beside Rhiannon to loiter, “I dunno about you, but that woman gives me the willies. And _not_ the good kind.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely something off about her,” Rhiannon agreed, watching the last curls of cigarette smoke vanish.

“I don’t like the way she said that,” Cait continued, launching into a quiet imitation of Desdemona, “‘Just remember who did you this favor.’ Like she’s askin’ us to sign our souls away.”

“Maybe she’s just… one of those people?” Rhiannon said, trying to sound reassuring for both of their sakes. “I had a professor who seemed like a real asshole, but he just had that manner of speaking.”

“Well, I tell ya, remember when I said there was something dark ‘bout the Railroad?” Cait leaned in towards Rhiannon’s ear, keeping her eyes on where Desdemona spoke with a sour-looking man with a narrow face, “That woman is it.”

* * *

MacCready leaned against the brick walls of the catacombs, a lit cigarette between his teeth. The argument between Lily and Simon replayed in his mind on a constant loop as he wrestled with the angel and the devil on his shoulders. On the one hand, this was the perfect opportunity. Lily had all but broken up with Simon, there may not be a better chance to swoop in than now. On the _other_ hand… Simon was clearly torn up, and seemed to be genuine in both his feelings for Lilith and his insistence that he didn’t even _want_ to lie to her in the first place.

 _“Maybe,”_ He thought to himself, trying to bring the internal war to a standstill, _“I can talk to Simon. See if he really means it. And if I’m not convinced… I can take Lily from him, no problem.”_

Pressing the lit end of the cigarette into the wall to snuff it out, the mercenary slipped around the staring Railroad agents, finding the makeshift clinic where Simon was laid up. The mechanic was staring vacantly at the ceiling, while an almost smug looking doctor worked nearby.

“Lopez,” MacCready called over to catch his attention, “We need to talk.”

Simon visibly sighed, but turned towards MacCready. His eyes were red, and still wet as he blinked.

“It’d be pretty shitty of you to hit a man when he’s down,” The mechanic said flatly, “You could at least wait until the bullet wounds heal up.”

“I just want to talk,” MacCready insisted, taking a seat by the bed.

“What about?” Simon asked, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling.

“Maybe the fact that Rook’s locked herself in a supply closet and won’t even answer when Dogmeat scratches the door.”

“And what do you think _I’m_ gonna do to fix that?” The mechanic turned slightly towards him, “I’d tell her everything, but she doesn’t want anything to do with me! I… I loved her. I really did. But I fucked it all up… all because of Carrington’s stupid fucking orders.”

“You ‘loved’ her?” MacCready raised an eyebrow, ignoring the jump of hopefulness in his chest. “Past tense.”

“I still do, but it doesn’t matter now, does it?” Simon turned away again, “She hates me.”

“So you’re not gonna fight for her?” MacCready asked, crossing his arms. “You’re just going to let her believe that you’re a liar and you don’t actually care.”

“Well, what the fuck else can I do to change her mind?! She’s locked herself in a supply closet; if she won’t open for _Dogmeat_ what makes you think she’ll open for me?!” Simon demanded, shooting upright for a moment. “Oww…”

“Maybe let her calm down, and try to talk to her like a ffff-frickin’ adult. But laying here crying like a toddler because your girlfriend’s mad at you for lying to her is not going to fix anything.”

“Fuck you, _Robbie_ ,” Simon spat, “I walked all the way out here with _two_ bullet wounds, cut me some fucking slack for wanting to lie down. And _excuse me_ for having emotions about the woman I love deciding she doesn’t want me around anymore.”

“Did she actually say that?” The rifleman sighed. “Did she actually tell you that she didn’t want you around or are you- hell, what’s it called… projecting?”

Simon paused, “No…”

“Well, listen. We’re gonna be here until Valentine’s back in his own brain. And if you haven’t manned up and sorted things out with Rook by then, then someone else just might.”

Without waiting for a response, MacCready rose from his seat and left Simon to think over what they’d discussed. Following the distant sounds of scratching and whimpering, MacCready found the supply closet Lily’d hidden away in, Dogmeat doing his best to convince her to let him in. The mercenary knocked lightly on the door.

“Rook? Open up.”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now, Robert!”

“Well, open up for Dogmeat, then!” MacCready called through the door, “Poor guy’s been trying to break in for hours.”

After a moment, the doorknob wiggled and the closet door cracked open. Tail wagging, Dogmeat squirmed inside and set to work covering Lily’s face and hands in kisses. MacCready leaned against the wall outside.

“Okay, okay, down, boy!” Lily gently pushed the German Shepherd off of her. Dogmeat lay down across her legs, his tail still happily thumping the floor while he pressed his head against her side.

“Can I come in?” MacCready asked, “Or should I get comfortable where I am?”

“I guess you can come in,” Lilith relented, trying to scoot deeper into the closet to give him room, but having trouble with the large dog on her lap. MacCready squeezed through the door, finding a space on the floor to sit down.

“This feels like a stupid question,” MacCready sighed, “But how are you holding up?”

“That _is_ a really stupid question.”

“Just talk to me, Rook,” The merc rolled his eyes in the dark.

“I’m pissed off,” Lily said, shrugging. “I thought he trusted me. I thought I could trust him. But if Simon can lie to my face about something like this, then how much else was also bullshit?”

“Well, did you talk _to_ him, or just yell _at_ him?”

There was no response beyond the sound of Lily scratching Dogmeat’s fur.

“Look, I know you loved him,” MacCready spoke a little slowly, making sure he was thinking carefully about the words he chose, “And yes, he lied to you, and yes, that was incredibly sh- stupid of him. Real jerk move. But maybe you should take some time to calm down and then _talk_ to Simon about it.”

“It’s just... he had so many opportunities to tell me,” Lily sighed. “And after all the bullshit I bought from my last few partners, I’m just... I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“Well, did they fess up and apologize, or did they try to make you feel crazy for calling them out?” MacCready asked, “At least Simon owned up, I’ll give him that much.”

“I guess,” Lily begrudgingly agreed.

“Just think about it and talk to him,” MacCready struggled to stand up in the crowded room, “And if you still think he’s a lying piece of crap, you know where to find me.”

* * *

“So,” Kellogg smirked as Rhiannon approached, “Is it finally time to go to the vegetable stand for some grocery shopping?”

“Really classy, Connie,” Rhiannon said with a roll of her eyes, drawing a look of absolute hatred from the Synth body.

“Careful, _Mrs. DiMaggio_ ,” Kellogg’s dull orange eyes dipped into a shade of red, “You wouldn’t want me to have to take out my anger on Mr. Valentine, would you?”

“If you kill Nick, then we’ll just destroy what’s left of you,” Rhiannon warned, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah,” The Synth’s eyes returned to a dull orange, “I don’t suppose they’ll have something on hand that’s relatively close to the old me.”

“Well, that level of ugliness is organic.” Rhiannon began to lead the Synth towards the room that had been pointed out to her earlier.

“And hereditary, if little Shaun is anything to go by,” Kellogg replied snidely, “He looked _so much_ like his Mommy.”

“You shut the fuck up and keep my son’s name out of your mouth, and out of Nick’s, while you’re using it.” Rhiannon smacked the back of his head to keep him faced forward.

“Whatever you say, _Mrs. DiMaggio_.”

A tense and hostile silence fell between them as Rhiannon led the way into the room, but stopped dead in her tracks just inside the door. A relatively thin man, most likely the ‘Caretaker’ that Desdemona mentioned, paced the room, checking the occupants of a series of cots. There were four of them, three male and one female, lying perfectly still in their beds. Their eyes were wide open, unmoving. It was almost like they were frozen just before the moment of death, their last breaths still trapped in their lungs.

“Kennedy, right?” Caretaker looked up from a woman with short black hair, her blue-green eyes vacantly staring into the abyss.

“Yes, Rhiannon Kennedy. Rhiannon is fine.”

“Desdemona said you’d be picking out one of the males for me to bring to Dr. Amari,” Caretaker approached, extending a shaking hand to shake.

“I don’t know,” Rhiannon said as she shook his hand, before Kellogg could speak, “The woman you’re working on is awfully pretty. Don’t you think, Connie?”

Kellogg gave a low growl.

“The lady’s off limits,” Caretaker quickly stepped away from the angered Synth, “She’s… she’s with Glory.”

“Oh, I- I’m sorry.” Rhiannon paled slightly.

“Well… you didn’t know.” Caretaker anxiously rubbed his hands, “Alright. Let’s… let’s get this over with.”

Rhiannon led Kellogg to the bedside of the first male Synth. His features were soft, with hazel-brown eyes that seemed curious and attentive, even in death. The General peered at the clipboard beside the bed, reading the Synth’s name… ‘Connor.’

The next male Synth was also handsome, with dark skin and strong, square features. His lifeless eyes were deep brown, and there seemed a permanent crease in his brow. As Rhiannon moved towards the last bed, Kellogg lingered for a moment by this body.

The third and final male Synth, however, caught his full attention. He was dressed in a dark leather trench coat, one that Rhiannon recognized as a Courser’s uniform. His eyes were shadowed and sunken, almost weary. The former Courser had shaved down hair and a thick beard. He was almost a spitting image of Conrad Kellogg’s former self, if not for the lack of scars and subtle differences in his facial structure.

“That’s disturbing,” Rhiannon muttered, but the Synth nodded immediately to the body of the Courser.

“This is the one.”

“Okay then.” Caretaker let out a breath, more than eager to get back to his lonely work, “I’ll have him in the Memory Den the day after tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Rhiannon said slowly, still eyeing the Courser nervously. “Can you… maybe lose the coat? Lily’s not fond of Coursers.”

“Who’s- oh. Charmer.” Caretaker let out a sigh, waving the pair away, “Yeah, I’ll handle it, thank you, goodbye.”

“No, thank _you_ ,” Kellogg turned to give a sinister smile to Caretaker. Rhiannon grabbed the Synth by the back of the trenchcoat, dragging him from the room.

“Come on. The sooner we get you into that shell, the better.”

* * *

Once Lily’s legs had begun to prickle with pins and needles under Dogmeat’s weight, she finally managed to extract herself from beneath the German Shepherd. He huffed a sigh, whining as she opened the closet door.

“Well, I’m hungry,” Lilith argued, rolling her ankles. “You want to go find some food with me?”

“Bark!”

“Let’s go then, buddy.” Lilith pat her leg, and Dogmeat happily trotted after her. Lily led them to where the Railroad usually stored food in their common area, ignoring the few stares she got.

“What are you thinking, boy? Dandy Apples for me, and Cram for the best boy in the Commonwealth?”

“Woof!”

“Good to see you’ve finally come out of the closet,” Carrington commented as he approached, apparently having the same idea about eating.

“It’s been some time since I did, actually,” Lilith replied with a smirk.

“I… I mean…” Carrington stuttered, realizing his choice of words, “It’s good to have you back, Charmer. And no worse for wear, it seems.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet as honey?” Lily bit into her apple, holding it between her teeth as she cracked open the tin of Cram. Dogmeat’s tail wagged harder, making him begin to wiggle.

“Uhh… well… uhh…” Carrington scratched the back of his neck, “Thank you?”

“Mmhmm.” Lily set the cardboard from her Dandy Apples on the floor and emptied the Cram onto it. Dogmeat set to work scarfing it down immediately. Lily finished her bite of apple and gave Carrington a wink while she chewed.

“That… that’s a waste of Cram, isn’t it?” Carrington asked, his gaze twitching between the dog and Lily’s eyes.

“I’m feeding my dog,” Lilith scoffed. “Well, Rhiannon’s dog. You know what I mean. Anyways, what can I do you for, Carrington? Or are you just saying hello?”

“I was… I was wondering…” Carrington seemed uncharacteristically nervous, “With how long you’ve been out there, I’m a little concerned about your health… maybe you could use a check-up?”

“A check-up?” Lily repeated, taking another bite of her apple. She waved it teasingly under his nose. “These aren’t doing their job, then.”

“Ha, ha.” The doctor deadpanned, “But according to reports, you were shot months ago with a .44 magnum, and who knows what you may have been exposed to-”

“If you want to undress me with more than just your eyes, I’ll give you a hard maybe.”

The color completely drained from Carrington’s face and his mouth dropped open, “Uhh…”

“Talk to you later, darlin’. Come on, Dogmeat.” Lily brushed past Carrington. Dogmeat licked his chops and followed after. Carrington watched her leave, but was otherwise rooted to the spot.

“Carrington, my pal,” Deacon- appearing out of nowhere as he was so fond of doing- put a hand on the good doctor’s shoulder as he stood as still as a statue, “Charmer just likes to get you bothered. It ain’t going any further than that.”

With another pat, Deacon left Carrington where he stood, the doctor making slightly strangled sounds as he tried to process what had happened moments before.

* * *

Fontayne had finally hit his stride in leading the Harbingers that had been placed under his control. They had no territory to claim in this area of the Commonwealth, and so the Omen had managed to successfully delegate aid to the other gangs; even the Pack and Operators reluctantly accepted the extra hands.

And now, Fontayne was enjoying a well-deserved drink and smoke on the roof of the Plaza. He blew out another plume into the cold night air, letting his mind wander.

“When I was told there were Harbingers working with the Pack and the Operators…” Caldwell’s voice carried from behind the Omen, accompanied by the smell of the Overboss’s signature cigar, “I thought I was being fucked around. But no, apparently hell froze over.”

“Apparently,” Fontayne agreed, glancing over as Caldwell came to stand with him. “Guess they just hated Sinead.”

“Hmm.” Caldwell grunted a response, gripping the railing as he blew another cloud of smoke into the air.

“So what can I do you for, Overboss? Or are you just a stargazer?”

“Tell me about Veronica Thorne.” Caldwell answered bluntly.

“She was a cunt,” Fontayne replied, smirking. “I never worked for her myself, but I got hired on by Witch right around the time of the mutiny.”

“And she and the Banshee were involved.” The Overboss continued, “What do you know about that?”

“Well, they didn’t let me watch, if that’s what you’re asking.” The Harbinger grinned, taking a sip from the bottle of bourbon he’d found.

“No. I don’t care about those details. I want to know what Thorne did.”

“She was a chem tycoon,” Fontayne shrugged. “She basically had a shit ton of runners and guards working for her, keeping a safe territory-”

“What she did to Moira.” Caldwell interrupted.

“I’m getting to that, Jesus. No patience for details. Thorne had this territory, and if you worked for her, she protected you. _But_ you owed her a cut of whatever you made. You and I both know Witch and the Banshee can take care of themselves out in the big, bad world. Well, Moira thinks that since she and Thorne are so in love, they’re just about equals. You know, partners. They support each other. So she decides to start pushing chems outside of Thorne’s little domain. She’s getting her own clients, and she’s poised to basically take over a place and do what Veronica is: have her own turf where she can make people pay for safety.

“So from what I hear, one night after getting busy, Moira tells Thorne what she’s been up to, and seeks to cut a deal where they can benefit one another. Thorne tells her that she has to think it over, and the next thing we hear, our little neighborhood is expanding. Veronica went to the Banshee’s new clients and told them that Moira wasn’t shit, and they couldn’t rely on her. She snapped up their business, leaving Moira high and dry and with a ruined reputation and no future prospects beyond sitting in the same position she’d been in for years.”

Caldwell nodded to himself throughout Fontayne’s story. “I see. Thank you for the enlightening information.”

“Yeah, no problem. But information’s not free, _boss._ ” Somehow Fontayne made the title sound even more sarcastic than Moira had.

“And what do you want from me?” Caldwell slowly turned to the Omen, his face clouded in enough smoke to make the Overboss look almost devilish.

“Hey, just a quid pro quo. Tit for tat. I told you what you wanted to know, now you tell me what I want to know.”

“And what might that be?”

“Mags is pretty easy on the eyes, as I’m sure you’re well aware.” Fontayne took a final drag from his cigarette before snuffing it out against the railing. “How do I get her in bed?”

“She only slept with me because she thought it’d get her ahead in Nuka World. She’s not going to sleep with some underling with nothing to offer.” Caldwell rolled his eyes.

“Not accurate, but fair enough. How about the Queen of Hearts? I see her around and she’s pretty.”

“Ask her politely… _or_ see if you can take her out on a date… _maybe_.” Caldwell shrugged.

“So the old fashioned way. Easily done.” Fontayne lifted his glass in cheers. “Anyways, that all you needed from me or you wanna keep up this back and forth? I never hated you like Witch does.”

“I’m done for now.” Caldwell turned, tossing the cigar over his shoulder as he headed for the elevator.

“Suit yourself.” Fontayne counted silently to three, then glanced over his shoulder. “By the way, you probably figured this out but the Banshee’s got a ticklish spot. Right behind her knees. It makes her squirm and you can tease her with it.”

“If Scarlett _really_ likes what you’re giving her, she’ll call you ‘Daddy.’” Caldwell responded just before the elevator doors closed behind him. Fontayne spit out the sip he’d taken of his drink.

* * *

**April 15th, 2288.**

Simon couldn’t sleep.

And he _knew_ he couldn’t because he’d close his eyes, lie still for an eternity, toss and turn a little, open them, see the clock on his Pip-Boy, and be faced with the cruel reality that only six minutes had passed. Despite it being after midnight, Simon gave up and squirmed out of his cot.

Stretching as gently as possible, Simon crept around the sleeping forms of his comrades on their dirty mattresses and past Carrington, who’d fallen asleep at his desk again. Maybe some fresh air would help him get some rest. To that end, the mechanic headed up the stairs, quietly opening and closing the door behind him as he limped towards Old North Church.

While he was never particularly religious, Simon liked to sit in old churches when he needed to think. It’s like the places were built for quiet contemplation. Surely he’d find the peace he needed amongst the broken pews… right?

Apparently, God, in his infinite wisdom, had other plans. When Simon turned the corner, he could see Lily, head hung low, doing exactly what he had planned to do. The mechanic tried to escape, but a loud creak from underfoot drew the mercenary’s attention to his failed attempt at a stealthy retreat.

Lily and Simon locked eyes, staring at each other like Radstag in a spotlight before Lilith rose to her feet, wringing her hands.

“Simon...” She opened her mouth to continue, but had to pause, her voice cracking on his name alone. “Um...”

“I’m sorry.”

Simon blinked. He and Lily had apologized unison, much like the way they’d declared love for each other.

“I… go ahead?” Simon offered, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“No, you go,” Lily offered. They both stood quietly before speaking over one another in a rush. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, I should have listened and let you explain.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you, I never should have listened to Dez and Carrington.”

Each took a deep breath, letting the other’s words sink in.

“Why couldn’t you tell me you were a part of this?” Lily asked. “I understand hiding the work you were doing, but you didn’t answer the call phrase.”

“I was…” Simon took another breath, waiting for the right words to come to him, “I was supposed to hold out and keep an eye out for any signs of Institute activity, and help house and guide any Synths out of the Commonwealth if they came by…

“Then Carrington pulls me aside and tells me that I can’t tell _anyone_ I’m with the Railroad. At first I thought it was so the Synths get to see someone who isn’t Railroad that treats them like people. But then he says that they picked up some Institute signals in the area. Something connected to Vault 111, and that I had to try to find a way to break into the Vault and see what was going on. He said for the sake of safety, I couldn’t communicate with _anyone_ outside of Deacon. No dead drops, no couriers, nothing. Just Deacon, whenever I saw him.”

“Well, the rest of us all found out pretty fast what they did in the Vault,” Lilith scoffed. “They took Shaun and shot Vincent. You couldn’t have told me after it was common knowledge?”

“They did more than that.” Simon said, “They killed _everyone_ in the Vault except for Rhiannon. They could’ve taken all those people, given them homes, let them out, fuck, even experiment on them. But they didn’t. And then… there was something with Rhiannon’s pod. Some kind of… remote connection. I think someone in the Institute let her out. But who? And why? That was what I was _supposed_ to figure out. And then when I sent word that y’all were coming, they called me back to give a report on Rhiannon, to see what she was like and if she was Institute or if she was safe.”

Lilith nodded as he spoke, and ran a hand through her hair. “I understand but... what’s _really_ got me fucked up is how easy it was for you to just… act like you didn’t know what I was talking about. I mean, shit, sugar, I’ve had people lie to me enough times I can usually catch it. That’s part of what I do for the Railroad, and I had no idea. Maybe I just wanted to trust you but... I don’t know.”

“I had to navigate working with the NCR, Caesar’s Legion, _and_ Mr. House while trying to undermine them at the same time. I _literally_ spent a _week_ living in a casino to get a good enough poker face to fool them.” Simon sighed, taking a few steps closer, “It _looked_ easy, but it wasn’t. I _never_ wanted to lie to you, and I’m so sorry that I did.”

“I’m just... scared,” Lily admitted, though she didn’t shy away from his approach. “All I can think about is how people thought we were rushing things, how MacCready kept warning me not to fall all over you so fast like I have with others…”

“I don’t blame you if you don’t trust me.” Simon sighed, his shoulders sinking, “But… I still love you. I meant that every time I said it. I… I want to fix this.”

“I love you, too, and... I want to fix things, but it’s not going to just be okay overnight.”

“I know.” Simon’s path took him to a seat in front of Lily. The mechanic sat down, his back to her as he fought to hold his tears at bay, “I… I just wish I told you.”

“Just... look me in the eyes and promise me you won’t do it again,” Lily sighed, moving to sit beside him.

Simon locked eyes with her, “I promise you, Lilith Rook, I won’t lie to you like that ever again.”

Lilith searched his gaze before resting a hand on his cheek. “Okay. I’m holding you to it.”

Simon slowly leaned in to kiss her, hesitating before he could make contact. Lily met him the rest of the way, pressing her lips to his in a quick kiss.

“Come on, sugar. It’s late and we gotta get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Simon sighed, “Yeah. I’m tired. Can you help me back into bed? Those stairs took a lot out of me.”

“Yeah, come on.” Lily wrapped Simon’s arm around her shoulders, helping him to his feet and then back down the tunnel.

* * *

Weary and tired, Caldwell decided to finally retire after his midnight smoke on the roof with Fontayne. His footsteps echoed through the halls of the Plaza as he lumbered towards his room, idly considering what to rename the building… it certainly wasn’t a ‘Gunner’ Plaza anymore, and hadn’t been a GNN station for over two hundred years. And thinking about that meant he didn’t have to think about Moira.

With a weary sigh, the Overboss realized that once again his thoughts had looped back to her. God. Dammit. Opening the double doors to his room, Caldwell turned and closed each one individually, locked both, and rested his head against the door as the memories played over and over in his head for the thousandth time.

“James.”

The voice came from the far corner of the room, barely above a whisper. Caldwell took a deep breath.

“Hello, Moira.” He answered, but didn’t turn around. There were a few footsteps as she moved into the center of the room.

“I’m ready to listen to you.”

“Listen to me?” Caldwell finally turned around. Moira stood with her arms folded tightly, watching him without expression.

“You wanted to talk. I’m willing to listen.”

“I’m just as interested in what _you_ have to say.” Caldwell stepped closer, “I wanted to talk, to discuss, and that takes two.”

“I don’t have much worth saying,” Moira replied. As he drew closer, Caldwell could see she was trembling.

“What do you want me to say then?” Caldwell asked, “Where do you want me to start?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, and now her voice shook, too.

Caldwell paused, walking past her and sitting on the edge on his bed. “I’ve loved many women, but I’ve only been _in_ love with three. Amata. Sarah. You. Amata, I grew up with in Vault 101. That stupid Romeo and Juliet kind of love, you know? And her Dad… he fuckin’ hated me, but we didn’t care. It… it ended when I left the Vault, because I was too different when we saw each other again. The world changed me.

“Sarah… we all know that story, don’t we? I met her looking for my father. She helped me pick up my first real lead. We kind of hit it off, but… nothing happened until after the Enclave took Project Purity. Then… training with her, working with her… things just… fell into place. And then Maxson took her from me.

“And now… there’s you. Savage and beautiful. Scarred and scared. You’re afraid I’ll be another Veronica. That I’ll betray and degrade you. That I’ll use you and then throw you away. But you… you made me feel almost… alive. For the first time since Sarah died. Like someone poured color into a black and white picture. And then you left.”

Caldwell sat for a moment, watching the rise and fall of Moira’s shoulders as she breathed, her back still to him, “And now you’re back. Why did you come back? To hear me fumble over my words as I try to woo you? To tell me to my face you’re leaving? To kill me?”

At this, she turned towards him, eyes widened for a moment. She stood quietly, before shaking her head. “I’m not leaving. And I’m not going to kill you.”

“Then tell me _why_ you’re here.” Caldwell pressed. Moira opened her mouth to reply, but no words came. She took a half step closer, unfolded her arms, and took another breath, but still found herself choking on anything she wanted to say.

“Do… do you love me?” Caldwell asked, slowly lowering his sunglasses and setting them aside.

“Yes,” she breathed, the word barely escaping alongside a tear.

Caldwell reached out, beckoning Moira to come closer. She stepped forward, taking his hands in hers. Caldwell leaned forward, resting his head against her stomach as he held her, unable to keep his own tears from rising and spilling down his cheeks. Moira’s hands moved to gently hold his head against her body, as she took shaking breaths to try and hold herself together.

“I love you, Moira.” Caldwell breathed, his voice shuddering.

“I...” Moira’s throat closed and she tried again. “I love you, too.”

Caldwell lifted his head, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, “Jesus. Look at us. Most dangerous people in the Commonwealth, crying together over nothing.”

“And if anyone gives us shit about it, we’ll kill them.” Moira finally cracked a smirk.

“There’s a smile,” Caldwell grinned, “Now let’s make it bigger.”

“What-” Moira’s question broke into a girlish squeal as Caldwell’s fingers found the backs of her knees. Her legs buckled and she fell into him, knocking them both onto the bed. “I’m going to _kill_ Fontayne.”

Caldwell laughed and pressed his lips against Moira’s, his hands curling around the Banshee’s back, and pulling her closer. Her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him back, her brief irritation forgotten by the comfort of the Overboss against her.

“I want you, Moira.” Caldwell whispered, his lips against the corner of her mouth as they trailed across her jawline.

“You have me,” she replied, her fingers pressing against his back and rubbing in slow circles. Caldwell resumed kissing Moira, gently pulling the Banshee’s coat down over her shoulders and helping her squirm out. Her hands finally moved to help Caldwell out of his long coat, dropping it atop hers.

Next, Caldwell’s hands found Moira’s breasts, massaging them through the shirt she wore for a few moments as he kissed along her neck. She arched into him, while her hands slowly trailed down his chest, feeling the familiar scars and muscles beneath his shirt, before her fingers slipped beneath the hem and found his skin.

Caldwell gently set his hands over hers, helping Moira guide the shirt over his head before he moved to do the same for her. Once both were topless, Caldwell pulled Moira close, kissing her deeply as they pressed into each other, the sensation of skin on skin more intoxicating than it had ever been before.

Moira’s fingers continued to venture over Caldwell’s body, as if exploring it for the first time, yet so familiar that they found each scar and sensitive point with ease. One hand continued to brush over the Overboss’s torso, while the other moved down to gently cup him through his pants.

“We’re wearing too much,” Caldwell’s breath was hot against Moira’s ear, his teeth brushing against her earlobe.

“We should really remedy that,” Moira breathed in reply, as the heel of her palm rolled against him, pressing along where she could feel Caldwell’s erection.

Caldwell’s grip found the sides of Moira’s jeans, sliding them down her hips until she could free herself from them. Likewise, Moira eased him out of the black cargo pants he’d been wearing, each adding more clothes to the haphazard pile on the floor next to the bed.

With nothing between them now, the pair entwined immediately, their legs tangling like serpents. Their mouths locked again, and Moira let out a soft sigh while Caldwell’s fingers wound through her hair.

“I love you,” Caldwell breathed into her mouth as Moira wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking slowly. “Do you want me?”

“Yes. So badly.”

Caldwell rolled over, positioning himself atop Moira, guiding himself into her with a slow push that drew a long moan from the Banshee. The Overboss kept a slower pace than normal, intent on savouring every thrust, every kiss, every breath he shared with Moira.

Moira’s legs wound around his hips, pulling Caldwell deeper, but not seeking to alter the languid pace, also content to draw out their love making. Her mouth trailed to his ear and her tongue brushed along the edge of it, punctuating the way she began to softly chant his name.

“Moira… I love you…” Caldwell said while one of his hands gently massaged one of Moira’s breasts. The other tangled up in her hair, gently stroking the Banshee’s shock-white locks.

“James… James, you’re so good,” Moira murmured back.

“Do you wanna get on top?” The Overboss asked.

“Mmm, yes.” Moira nipped at Caldwell’s earlobe before flipping him onto his back and continuing the gentle pace he’d set. Just like she’d done with him, Caldwell thrusted into her only to deepen the strokes, not to adjust the tempo.

“Yes…” Caldwell hissed as she rode him, “Oh my God… yes, Moira…”

After a few more strokes, one of Moira’s hands gently rested against his neck, her thumb running the line of his throat. She leaned down for a kiss, then murmured against his lips, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yes,” Caldwell answered immediately, “I am yours. Are you mine?”

“Entirely,” she affirmed, capturing him in a deep kiss. Caldwell’s hands explored Moira’s body as they kissed, trailing the path of each scar, everywhere she was sensitive, down her back, up her spine, to her breasts, down her sides, the Banshee moaning and chanting his name into his mouth as he thrusted into her.

“Bite me,” Moira finally spoke coherently, her pace beginning to falter as she could feel her climax starting to build.

“As you wish,” Caldwell replied, pulling his lips away from hers so his teeth could find purchase in her collar. He was rewarded with an immediate and loud moan, and the sting of fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“Yes. Again, please.”

Caldwell obliged, his teeth leaving marks all along Moira’s collar, shoulders, neck, and jawline, before they caught her lower lip.

“I’m close,” she breathed, tilting her head for another kiss.

“So am- So am I…” Caldwell’s breath hitched for a moment, feeling his climax approach.

“I want to feel it,” Moira moaned. Her hands gripped his shoulders as she rolled them so he was once more on top. “I want you to come inside me.”

Caldwell set his hands on Moira’s cheeks, “As you wish.”

With that, the Overboss quickened the pace, thrusting hard and deep into Moira, a hand moving back to pull on her hair so he could bite her neck in the way she loved. Moira rewarded him with a loud cry of his name, and within moments she clenched around him as her orgasm hit in tandem with his. The Banshee’s legs wrapped around him, holding him deep as she rocked her hips to ride out their shared highs.

“Oh my God… ohhh my God…” Caldwell panted, “Fuck, I love you, Moira.”

“I love you, James,” Moira replied, pulling his lips to her own. She still had to force herself to verbaize the sentiment, but hearing it from Caldwell was no longer frightening, and in fact filled her with warmth, with a feeling of safety and home

“Stay with me, please.” Caldwell requested, moving over to lie beside her, an arm wrapping around her and pulling her closer. Moira curled against his chest, pressing as close to him as possible.

“There’s nowhere else I want to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It would be too easy to make a Detroit: Become Human / Fallout 4 crossover. I'm sure someone's already done it. But I'm strictly Xbox and PC, so I'll leave that to someone else and just make a quick little reference to everyone's favourite android.


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